


A Man of Letters

by Arisusan



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: (except it's several people roadtripping solo at the same time), Canon Compliant, Fix-It, Future Fic, Gen, In Medias Res, Non-Graphic Violence, Repression, Road Trips, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, around 10 years down the line, retroactive relationship development, slavery cw, we've taken cr canon out back and given it the headshot it deserves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:15:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 142,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23088391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arisusan/pseuds/Arisusan
Summary: Several years after the peace between the Empire and Xhorhas, Caleb Widogast takes a sabbatical. Meanwhile, Fjord's sworn duty leads him to places he's been before, stirring up good memories and bad ones. Both of them know that they are out of their youth, and neither of them knows what to do about it.EDIT: This fic was me taking the (at the time) most likely endgame of Fjord/Jester and trying to fix it. Hop on if you’re now looking for that same course correction! Hope you all have fun.
Relationships: Fjord & Caleb Widogast, Fjord/Caleb Widogast, Jester Lavorre/Beauregard Lionett, The Mighty Nein & The Mighty Nein, beau/jester is a subplot but there's enough of it in the latter half that it needs a tag
Comments: 164
Kudos: 83





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This fic will be finished by the end of the year, but that may mean one chapter now and 7 in December. I've listened to eps 1-50 of CR and this is based entirely, 100% on those episodes. Non-canon Traveller? Nott the still-goblin girl? Characters with consistently-written relationships that aren't blatantly the product of metagaming? Yep, all here.
> 
> The set-up is that the Mighty Nein have grown during the series and have done as you'd expect them to, but that despite all the growth they went through during the series, they still let their fear get the better of them. After the series, they could go and do whatever they thought they should do. Now, they're faced with the prospect that what they should do isn't necessarily what they want to do, and that if they don't start paying attention now, they'll end up old and full of regret. No, this was not caused by the shadow of impending university graduation, not at all, perish the thought. 
> 
> tl;dr this is a fix-it. Fjord and Jester may end up in a romance in 'canon' but by gods they will not stay in one in my version.
> 
> edit: Caleb's letter-writing style is a bit weird in terms of mechanics, but I tried to do it as a guy who reads mostly academic texts writing personal correspondence according to an official template he learned back in grade school in a different language

"We are glad to have you here, Paladin," the dockmaster said, rifling through the papers stacked up in what passed for a customs house this far out from the major ports. Fjord just nodded.

"I'm glad to return. Though, I would rather I wasn't needed."

"Wouldn't we all? Ah _—_ here it is." The dockmaster retrieved what looked like a letter from beneath the stack, sealed with an unmarked blob of wax. Fjord couldn't see what the address could be, but it was apparently of some interest, since the dockmaster gave it a long, hard look before glancing back to him.

"Fjord Tusktooth? That ring any bells?"

It did, though it took a moment for Fjord to put a name to the fear that gripped him. He was at his lowest when he used it, chasing down the power he'd hoped could make him someone else.

"Yes."

The dockmaster shrugged, handing it over. On the other side, written in spidery handwriting, was the name, but that wasn't the oddest thing about it. There was no address, only a scrap of a cut claw glued on to it, and the ink glowed like embers, shifting as Fjord reached out to grab it.

For one brief moment, it flared bright enough to blind them both, then blinked out. His name _—_ a name he'd used _—_ was still there, but faded black now.

"You seen anything like that before?"

"No." Fjord was unable to say anything else. Why…?

"Know who it's from? I tell you, magic can be bad business, if you don't know what you're getting into."

"I know. It's all right. I…don't know why, but I know who sent it." After a moment's pause, he realized he wasn't alone. "Thank you, Dockmaster."

"You're welcome, I suppose. The post-orc just told me to hand it over to whoever made it glow."

"Did she, now."

…

Fjord waited until the night, opening the letter to read in the dim light of his campfire, which had almost burned to ashes. There wasn't any reason to do so, but the part of him that he couldn't shake knew that the lower the light, the less chance anyone, here or scrying, could read it.

…

_Dear Fjord,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I would not say I worry, but I think often of the Mighty Nein. It is difficult not to, even though it has been some time since we were last together._

_How are you? There is no need to answer honestly, but—_

There was some amount of blotting on the parchment, there.

_—I do want to know, if you would like to tell me._

_I suppose I should tell you how I am. Life is more dull now than when we first met. Luc has grown into a fine young man, as I'm sure Nott has told you. She assures me that he sees me as family, though he simply calls me and all the others by our first names. That is, he calls me "Caleb."_

_I know Beauregard writes you more frequently, but when I last heard from her she had not received a letter in some time. I believe nothing much has changed that way since you would have heard from her. She is admired by the initiates, but I would not say beloved. We are not often in the same city, but we keep in touch as much as we are able. Dairon and Yasha are still in touch with her. I am not so sure about Jester. I have not heard from—_

This time, the word "you" was just visible beneath the hatching.

_—her in some time, though she assures me she is well._

Again, Fjord could see a few aborted sentences, but couldn't read what they may have been.

_As for Caduceus, he is, as ever, in his garden. It is a beautiful place that I do visit, though less often than I would like. Do you and he still write back and forth, or is it unnecessary, with that divine connection between the two of you? Regardless, he never answers my questions about you. Whatever trust you placed in him, he has kept it._

_It feels wrong not to say that we all still remember Molly. Beau, Yasha, and I drink to him once a year. I believe Nott does too, though I haven't asked. For all his time with us was brief, he is hard to forget._

_That is enough of the morbid. You would think I would avoid it. On the whole, I am doing well. However, I must admit another purpose for this letter._

_If it is no trouble for you, I would like to ask if you knew of an employment I might take that would have me travel from here. I am in need of a change, you might say. Beauregard has said the Cobalt Soul refuses to hire those not of its order for away missions, and even now Yasha prefers to work alone. So, I write to you. Jester, I cannot reach._

_If you have any such position in mind, please write down the details. I would appreciate it very much._

_May you face the horizon with clear eyes,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Caleb Widogast_

_℅ Veth Brenatto_

_Postscript: You can respond to this message_

…

_Caleb,_

_I'm doing well. So is Jester. I haven't had a steady address these past few months, so forgive the silence on my part. I am always glad to hear you're_ _—_

Here, the word "doing" was crossed out.

_—_ _all doing well. I don't have much paper at my disposal, so this letter will be short. There are always postings for ship crew in the big ports. You could hire yourself out as security. If you don't like the sound of that, I'm travelling west along the coast. I could find you something in one of the towns. As of 21/13/45, I am in the town of Przut. I will spend two weeks here, then take the southwest road to Yutia, and spend a month there. My next destination is Ulicadram._

_Tell Beau she scares the kids._

_Fjord._

…

Kneeling on the sand where the scrubby grass stopped short, Fjord faced the forest and offered a prayer to the Wildmother.

The work that called him to the coast had kept him in the prosperous ports of the south, where cartwheels trampled flowers on the roadside and smugglers torched pine and olive forests to make more room for shanty towns. More lately, though, the tone of his calling had changed. Melora didn't offer any easy answers, or direct ones, but he found his feet leading him west.

He'd secured passage months back aboard a small cargo ship in Nicodranas sailing west to Port Zoon, offering his sword as security and his arms as labour in lieu of payment for the trip. The hardtack tasted bad enough to make starving look like an option, but he couldn't deny that it made him remember his days on the sea with a rose-coloured tinge.

Betrayal or no, Uk'otoa or no, Vandren or Avantika or the warm drag of shame on his back or lying down and thinking of anything else but the moment or no, it was his first taste of freedom. What he'd faced on the ship was the same scorn as on land, but between the punishing hours and the constant danger of death, not everyone had the time to spit in his face. Before Jester and the Nein, it hadn't seemed a bad deal.

So now, older and a little weaker, he hauled crates and barrels of the finer things in life, brought down from the Empire to Nicodranas to be shipped across the continent. Textiles, probably. He wasn't about to start trouble just to satisfy his curiosity. The folk out on the west coast weren't the types to need artifices or jewels. Probably some fishing or farming equipment they couldn't carve or weave themselves from nature. He slept in the tiny cabin with the rest of the crew, curling into the hammock that was a lot less comfortable now than he remembered it being his first time.

One time, the captain called him up when their lookout spotted an unfamiliar ship on the horizon, which passed them by after a few hours. It might have been looking for bigger prey, or it could have been too recently injured to risk a fight for cargo.

On the ship, he had wondered how his powers might be. The last time he took to the sea for any length of time, his powers had been…different. Turns out, there wasn't any need to worry. The ship had barnacles and the sea was full of grasses and seaweed, fish, shells, things too small for his eye to see but alive enough to feel. He should have known that Melora was everywhere, even in the stoniest courtyard where the only thing that grew was lichen. Life and death found their ways.

The journey up the coast from Zoon had taken him some time, the calling further west tugging too gently for him to really know where to go. He figured he could just start moving, fix what he found, and keep going until he felt he'd accomplished his task or until he found something too big for him to take. As it turned out, there was plenty to do. The increase in sea trade after the peace between Xhorhas and the Dwendali had kept the ports thrumming with activity.

He should know. He'd been the one defending the wild places in this world from the reaching hands of greed.

It turned out that it was pretty expensive for the ever-growing number of new traders to fight it out over the same few stalls in the port marketplaces. Apparently, there were stories of a Green Man that haunted the surrounding woods, bringing down bad fortune on anyone who trespassed.

Whether economics or superstition, Nicodranas just wasn't an option for low-class smugglers and low-margin commerce. First they spilled out into Port Zoon, razing and rebuilding its more rickety streets, but they ran across some of the same problems. The traders there were too well-settled to be forced out and the same spectre haunted the few who were more zealous in their expansion. So they adapted, they downsized, they brought in new tricks to keep dock time low and to avoid pirates, keeping their margins high enough to skate along.

Only, things weren't slowing down, and people were getting creative. As he'd found out when he'd strolled into Hvarit, some enterprising folk had sent advance parties up the western coast north of Port Damali to try and find somewhere to lay down roots and build a new port. That was all fine and well, but these ones weren't going about it the proper way. Instead of negotiating with the town council, smuggling crews or legitimate traders would sweep in, shove the fishermen off the docks with a few mercenaries and hold the town's supply lines hostage until they agreed to support them.

Now, he could understand the pressures of city life. Hell, he'd run off to the sea first chance he got, and he was near dead broke for a while. Any work was good work, even with the coin that was floating around these days. But there were something that just didn't sit right.

In Hvarit he had strolled into town with his sword sheathed at his side and his step light on the sandy road. The tall buildings piled up on either side of the city's canal were painted in plain white and earthen red, a contrast to the bright pastels of the bigger ports, and quiet.

He'd first put that down to the lazy life of a local centre, but it was clear when he reached the inn that something fishy, no pun intended, was afoot. Instead of fishers or an inland merchant or two, diverted down the canal for a local delivery, the inn was full of the sort of folk he'd run with for some time. Some of 'em may have been entrepreneurs, or the like, but the shift between the quiet of the town and the noise of these visitors put him ill at ease.

Sure enough, moored just out of sight in a cove to the north of town was a barnacled smuggling ship, packed with goods most likely stolen from Tal'Dorei and passed along from smuggler to smuggler until they reached Wildemount, where they could be sold without much fear of reprisal. It was a clever system, and he'd been on the tail end of it a time or two, but this town wasn't the place to handle it.

A few simple questions in the bar had told him what he needed to know. No flashy display of swordsmanship would help the harried-looking townsfolk, nor would it help the trees he knew were hacked down each night to feed the bonfire on the northern beach.

That night he prayed, asked for a bit of advice from Deuce, and slept soundly on a straw mattress instead of his usual stone and earth. The morning, he made sure to thank the barkeep. Then he walked up from the town and found himself in the wood, drinking in the life of the birds and the shrubs, the ground-covers that were different this far north from Nicodranas. From there he hiked over the ridge and found the ship squatting heavily in the too-shallow waters of the cove. Pirates, he'd thought, and they aren't too good at it. Even we took better care of the cargo than this.

He had taken his pack down from his back and sat in the forest of oak and pine that covered the cliffs before they reached the water, watching the flow of people, cargo, and…horses to and from the ship. It didn't take long to see that the cargo was being moved out of the ship and not back in, making this the destination rather than a rest stop. The crew moving about the ship wasn't full either, and the number in town were more sellsword than seaman.

The sun had moved to crest over his head when he decided he'd watched enough. The cargo was something dense, something heavy and small that could hold a lot of value in a small package. Or maybe these crew were so weak you needed six to a small box to haul it up and through the cliffs. Jewels, maybe, something that couldn't have been melted down or re-cut back on Tal'Dorei. Another option was drugs, though there weren't many valuable enough to haul in that quantity out here.

They would be looking to ship whatever it was out from here. The canal was the only practical mainland connection, and horses would certainly serve to drag cargo upstream. What they needed was a barge, and what Fjord and the Wildmother felt was the carnage of trees, old trees and a few young ones that had lived long enough to have their own unique sense. These pirates weren't making an emergency stop, they were preparing to set up shop in this sleepy town and seize the canal to transport their goods upstream to the river, bypassing some of the security they had in the big ports.

Sure enough, when he hiked up the loose loam and skidded down a cliff's side to survey the cove entrance, a train of crew carried the cargo to edge of the canal. On the other side, the sound of axes could be heard from the forest just above the town. One crude barge had already been dragged down and loaded up, sitting precariously on the canal as two horses were hitched to it. The number of mercenaries about the operation had caught Fjord's eye. Wouldn't it be better to have the full force in town, keeping an eye on the locals?

No, it occurred to him. The barge sitting on the water took up nearly the width of the canal, and from the quantity of cargo unloaded, they'd need dozens to ship the full load upstream. No shipments from the main river would be able to pass until the pirates' cargo had been taken to the river, unless they were stopped at one of the locks between here and the main river. And the locks were run by the same authorities that handled trade in Zoon. The mercenaries were to deal with the keepers of the locks if they couldn't be bought, or even if they could. It depended on the crew, and what Fjord had seen hadn't impressed him.

The operation had planning behind it. It was risky, but this was set up for the long term, and a single crew couldn't afford that many mercenaries. There must be some kind of coalition between ships to establish this route. If he were to secure the wildness of these forests and the safety of the town, he couldn't just hit once and leave. He needed a plan, and he needed backup. He needed time. He needed to think this through.

In the months since Jester left, he'd found himself drifting. It wasn't any lonelier than before, and he preferred not to think about what that meant, but with only himself and the Wildmother and sometimes Deuce, words didn't come to him as easily as they always had. He could look and feel and think but…never articulate, when he got right down to it. The words bubbled up out of his stomach and swallowed themselves before they got to his mouth. Sure, the occasional barkeep liked to chat, and he visited a city shrine from time to time, but he was a paladin, not a cleric, and one of the wild, not of the people. The solitude coated him like lacquer, hardening him up to someone he didn't recognize and didn't think about.

He'd realized, then, how unstuck he'd become. Face-to-face with a task he couldn't do alone, miles from anyone he loved and further from anyone who loved him. He needed backup—who? Jessie could barely stand to talk to him, not that he blamed her, and Beauregard was off in the far reaches of the East with her own job. Caduceus didn't like to leave, and besides, he served a different purpose. Fjord hadn't even spoken to the others since last year. Yasha was in the wind following her own god. Nott had a family. Caleb—

Caleb, he wasn't sure. He knew he lived near Nott and Beau, yeah, and that he taught and wrote and studied, but that was a hell of a long ways from knowing where he stood.

Unconsciously, he had rubbed his thumb along the palm of his right hand. It was him who owed Caleb, not the other way around. Besides, with how things ended—no, that was a scab he'd promised himself he'd leave untouched. Caleb was as good as a stranger, now, or a ghost. He barely existed. All of them did. Fjord was Fjord, Deuce was Deuce, Melora was the Wildmother, and everything else, well, that was up in the air.

So it was some months back that Fjord had drawn his sword in Hvarit and whirled through the night like a dervish, cutting ropes and burning wood, never stepping one foot over the line he'd drawn in the sand, and scrambled up the cliffs with crossbow bolts clattering off of his armour. He had run along the clifftops, trusting in the force that kept his legs strong and supple as new wood and his lungs clear as water. They couldn't chase him for long. Some hours later he stood by the sea, muttering prayers into the night as he stamped his feet and willed blood back into them. His mouth formed words that had the same meaning as he felt, but that was just a coincidence.

Fjord was cut off from the world of people by a hard, clear barrier that protected him as much as isolated him. He felt, he _felt_ but he couldn't put words to it, helplessness and joy and anger and belief and the sound of the sea. Something was wrong, but he barely knew what. He needed help.

Then the Wildmother had seen fit to bring him sleep and he woke the next morning with a clear head. The pirates wouldn't bother chasing him if he kept quiet, and he was sure the legitimate merchants around the place would be keen to stamp out any new pirate bases, especially if they were taking to blocking trade routes. Worst come to worst, he'd earned some coin on his exploits. He could buy a fighter or two.

And so, for months Fjord had roved the coast, walking town to town by day and counting ships, counting people, sketching flags and jotting notes down on a crude map of the region he had drawn up on stolen bedsheets. He stole aboard ships and talked to their crew, slipping into one of dozen or so accents like a pair of worn boots. What ships were hiring crew? Where was the money to be had? What routes were overcrowded, and what rumours flew about with news of an opportunity? The words came to him more easily than in months, flowing like water and stinging like salt when he needed them to.

By the time he made it to Przut, rust-brown lines covered his map like a spider's web. Whatever the pirates and the smugglers—they'd joined forces, he learned, they and a whole bunch of the skeevier merchants—had planned, it reached from the southwest all the way north, with ships coming down from the Cyrios mountains.

He felt the calling at its strongest, the Wildmother telling him that something was wrong and that he needed to fix it, before anyone else got hurt.

That was when Caleb's letter arrived, with what enchantment, he didn't know. What the hell would have made him send a letter? After everything? After so much time? Fjord's throat burned with something he told himself was bile.

The man was looking for a job.

Well, Fjord had work.

Fjord knelt in the sand, and he prayed for the strength he'd need.

…

_Dear Fjord,_

_I am glad to hear from you. I ensured Beauregard got your message, and she asked me to tell you that she is quite charming these days._

_Now, I must apologize. You were generous enough to send me detailed enough information that I could catch you, but it will take me some small time before I am able to depart. I plan to fully vacate my current home. As before, I am glad my possessions are small and magical in nature._

_Since I have hope our correspondence will continue, I must ask you a favour. I will be receiving my letters at Nott's address as I have, and I know you may want to write her as well. You both do seem to like saying things to one another, though I would not go as far as to say you enjoy conversation. Regardless, should you wish to write her, I would respectfully ask that you not mention my plans. I have not yet told her of my plans to travel. It is likely that she suspects I may make changes in my life; however, I do not wish to worry her unnecessarily and I feel that I should at least have a concrete plan before I inform her of my leaving._

_Of course, I write all of this under the assumption that she has not been reading my mail. With our Nott, it is not impossible that this is the case, is it not? Perhaps you had best write to her as well, to draw off some suspicion._

_With respect to plans, the purpose of this latter was originally to say that I cannot act on your advice just yet, despite my asking it. At this time, my wish would be to travel in your direction until such time as I can find employment suited to my skills. My path south would take me near many trading ports, which may provide something to attract me. It will not be certain until I have cut my ties to this place and until you have told me more of your journey, but if I am lucky I will set out within the month for Zadash, where I think I may visit some friends, and from there travel south until I find a place I could work or until I find you. By the time I receive your reply to this message, I believe I will have a firmer plan._

_Now that I have finished the necessary talk of business—how went Przut? I hear that the country is very pleasant in the summer, though I have never been. I am sure Jester had her fun. I have sent her a letter of my own (enclosed). Did you spend any time on their islands? The sea, I know, is a complicated love for you, but I am sure some small outing would not hurt._

_May the sun stay warm on your back,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Caleb Widogast_

_℅ Veth Brenatto_

_Postscript: You can respond to this message_

…

_Dear Jester,_

_I sincerely apologize for what happened when last we met, and I hope you are able to accept my contrition. I do not mean to force it on you with this letter. I overstepped my bounds out of hubris, I insulted your intelligence, and I hurt you. I am so sorry. I also apologize for not writing sooner. Fjord tells me you are well, but he did not tell me any details._

_If you are willing to respond, may I ask how you have enjoyed your journey? I have heard only good things of Przut, mostly about the beaches and the brewing. I am sure that even if it were a desolate place, you would find some good there._

_I am not sure if you have kept in touch with Beauregard, but she is doing very well. She is far more respected in her order than even in the Mighty Nein. Who would have known? We are still firm friends, but she is very rarely in the same place as I for long, so we are not as close as Nott and I. Nott is doing excellently (I do not know if this is correct) at her home. I'm sure you have heard from her since your last visit there, but Luc is growing up more quickly than I had noticed, and is soon to be a man. I only hope that he will be one with better judgment than any of us, but he has a good father and good mother, and an uncle who has learned enough hard lessons for the both of us. I think Nott misses you, though she would never dream of holding you down in one spot._

_Again, I do not know how closely you have spoken with Yasha, but she was doing well when last we saw each other. She is sure to visit Beauregard, as am I, so our paths cross most often under the roof of the Cobalt Soul. I am sure she wishes you the best, as do we all._

_I would like to apologize again for my words and my cowardice, for not reaching out until now._

_May you travel safely,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Caleb Widogast_

_℅ Veth Brenatto_

…

_Caleb,_

_First of all, I've apologize. I was unclear in my last letter. Jester is not travelling with me, but she does send a message on occasion to let me know she's still alive. It goes without saying that I have not opened your letter. Do you want me to get rid of it?_

_I think Nott opened mine. If she's as worried about you as usual. You should probably talk to her. She loves you_ _—_

The words "as much as" were completely scrubbed out, but the imprint of them was clear in the rough paper.

_—as much as anyone, probably._ _Przut is a good place to stay. It's warm here, but not blazing hot for another month or so. I didn't go out to the islands, but I did spend some time right on the sea shore. There's been a boom in trading here, so the wild places are under threat. I've done what I can._

_It's kind of you to tell me about the others. I'm glad they're as happy as you. I talk to Cad pretty often, and I send letters to Beau, so you don't have to worry about them._

_After Ulicadram, I'm going to Janas._

_Good luck._

_Fjord._

…

_Beau,_

_How are things? Sorry I've been out of touch, but it's a little hard getting paper on the road here. Not much change for me, still cleaning up after the trade boom. Jes is fine, though she just checks in to say she's still alive. I think she's enjoying life with her troupe Honestly, I'd have thought you'd be in better touch with her than I am, but Caleb says you haven't heard from her._

_By the way, do you know if Caleb's up to something? He says he's looking for a change of pace, but he hasn't said anything about what he's doing now. I thought he was still just teaching, maybe doing some research for you guys. Anything changed? Midlife crisis? None of my business, but I just don't want him alone if he's going through something._

_Anyway, I don't know if you're in at the moment, but send me a reply when you can. Kick some ass out there._

_Fjord._

…

_Dear Fjord,_

_I rather think I am the one who should apologise for my assumption. Thank you for telling me. You can get rid of the letter if you want, or you can send it on to Jester, if you know her address._

_I have not yet spoken to Nott—don't worry, I will say something soon—but I am inclined to believe you are correct. She does not seem overly worried, though. Perhaps she has finally come to see you as an adult? I have told Beau, at least, that I plan to travel some. I suspect she may have noticed my packing, as I asked her if she would take some few things I could not sell in town or carry with me._

_It is good to hear that you have kept up with her and Caduceus. I find myself regretting the time I spend alone, though I suppose I am much nearer the group than all except for those two. After so much together, it is hard to connect with others and harder still to be alone._

_I hope to have set out by the time this letter finds you, and certainly by the time any reply may reach me. Enclosed are detailed instructions for a wayfinding spell that you may use to find my current location, and some of my hair to use for a component. It is of an arcane nature, but again, the enclosed ink and paper should be sufficient for you to work it. I would ask that you anticipate movement from each city I visit within one day if it is not a centre of trade, and three days if so. I will endeavour to provide you with more precise information on my address once I have left. When you send your letters, tell the courier that the ink will glow brightly when it moves towards its target, and will fade to black when carried away._

_If you have any urgent information before I am to leave, I will plan a visit Caduceus before long. He may be able to give me a message._

_I am sorry to hear that the Wildmother still declines. At the same time, I realize that it is your duty to seek out the places under threat and defend them, and so you pass from one battlefield to the next while Caduceus maintains your strongholds. At the very least, I am glad you are able to find the beauty in the wild before it is subsumed entirely. I recall that you always try to save that good which we still have in life._

_May your back not bend beneath the burdens of your mission,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Caleb Widogast_

…

_Fjord,_

_Thanks for the heads up. Caleb's definitely acting fishy, but I can't think of anything it could be other than a midlife crisis. Frankly, the guy's overdue for one. He did tell me when I asked, so I don't think he's trying to hide anything. When it comes to Caleb hiding things from us, we've already had a lot worse than anything he could do now._

_Things are going great, as usual. I think Dairon told the bosses to keep me busy. You caught me back in town, but I'm off again in a week to exposit some human smuggling northwest along the mountains. No rest for the assholes, eh?_

_Good luck with the flower crusade. If I didn't have a job to do, I'd wish I was there. Have some fun for me, and tell Jessie I said hi, if she has time for a chat._

_Beau_

…

_You probably won't get this for a while, but I got your letter and I got the charm to work. Let me know if you find a job before you get here. If your boss has got a long-range message spell, I can be your reference._

_Fjord._

…

Caleb Widogast rapped quietly at the short wooden door, nodding gratefully when it was opened a minute later.

"Caleb! Bit early for dinner, don't you think?"

"Ah, yes, but not for a drink, I do not think."

He ducked under the thatched roof and through the door to a front room where he could stand up fully. The architecture was what you might think of as typically halfling, half-timber and plastered walls, but some key modifications had been made. A careful look would reveal that no light fixtures hung off the ceiling. Instead, lamps were placed at regular intervals along handmade wooden shelving that ran on two levels, one just under the roof and one somewhat below that. More noticeable was the height of the ceiling, far enough above the floor that Caleb was able to stand comfortably.

"You know my habits! Want tea, or something a little stronger?"

Nott waved him through and wandered into the kitchen, neatly sidestepping around the clutter piled up along the wall and sometimes in the middle of the floor.

"Tea will be just fine for now, I think."

Once he reached the kitchen, a broad room overlooking a grassy field, Caleb located one of the larger chairs serving as a shelf and carefully removed the piles of books and alchemical materials piled upon it, dragging it over to the small table at the centre of the room and then opening the cupboard to set the table. Nott had already filled the kettle, and now put it on over a magical fire that blazed in a small warded box on the countertop.

"Luc's out with some friends, but Yeza should be back soon, if you're here on business."

"I'm afraid I am just here for the pleasure of your company, Nott. Oh! That reminds me, I do believe I have…" Fishing around in his coat pockets, Caleb produced a pouch of candied fruit stolen from Beau during his last visit. "Something to go with the tea."

Nott grinned broadly. "We'll need it, because we're down to the cheap stuff. You want milk with it? It's pretty rough."

"I think I will be fine. It was only on an empty stomach that I had that…adverse reaction."

"Suit yourself."

Nott sat herself down across from him as the kettle boiled, placing a flask labelled "cream" down beside her place. The fruit was already on a small wooden plate in the centre of the table, which she dragged over as well.

"Is Yeza just out getting supplies, or…?"

"Yes, yes, I've had a busy week, so he offered." Her hands instinctively grabbed for the "cream," unscrewing the lid and pouring a healthy amount of an opaque, light brown liquid into it. "It's—"

"I know." Caleb spared her the need to say it. "There's no shame in it, you know?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'd do the same for you, but I can't help feeling that after _years_ , I'd get the hang of it, you know? And I do, I really do, but—"

"Busy week."

"Exactly." Nott settled back into her chair, some of the tension leaving her shoulders, then twitched as something caught her ear. "Oh! That'll be the kettle."

"I'll get it."

The Brenatto home was something closer to Caleb's home than his actual residence, so it took him no time at all to find the tea tin and brew a large pot of what was sure to be bitter and dry. He chose one of Jester's thickly-knitted teacosies for it, and placed it down on the table between them.

"Thanks, Caleb. Now, what are you really here for?"

She sounded cheery enough, but Caleb still felt himself freeze up like a child caught in a lie. Which, he supposed, he was.

"If it makes a difference, I really am enjoying your company."

"Oh, I'm _more_ than smart enough to know that. We should have at least half an hour to chat, if you don't want anyone else to hear."

Caleb waved a hand lightly, watching her lean forward on the table, eager to hear whatever was worth hiding.

"It's not so important. I've decided to go travelling for a time."

"Where?"

"The southwest coast, most likely. You might say I want to see what all the merchants have been talking about."

As a peace offering, he took the teacosy off and poured both himself and Nott a cup of sharp-smelling liquid.

"It has certainly been some time since we were there," said Nott, taking a sip of hers. "Might have changed a bit, you think?"

"I was more thinking along the lines of spending some time just enjoying it. We were not exactly tourists, ja?"

"Well, no, but we did see the sights! More than I wanted to. Eugh. How far are you planning to go? Not at sea, I hope."

"I'm not sure. I thought I might see if I could get employment on a ship—"

"Didn't you have enough the first time?" interrupted Nott, exasperated. "I'm pretty sure I was!"

"I will be fine," he placated, "I promise. Anyhow, a ship or possibly a caravan. I wish to spend at least some months out there, so better to have something that gives me travel and employment rather than just a drain on my finances."

"You could always do some mercenary work. I'm sure you're not too rusty, eh?"

Quick as a flash, she grabbed something from her pocket and whipped it at him. He did manage to react, but was far too slow to catch the button before it bounced off of his forehead with more force than he'd anticipated. He rubbed at it for a moment to restore the blood flow.

"What was it you said? 'Was I not traumatized enough the first time?'" he teased. "No, I think something more mundane is in order. Besides, I would prefer to come back in one piece."

"So six months at least, then."

He couldn't tell what she thought of it, but she at least hadn't objected yet. Then again, he had not told her who he sought to meet.

"Most likely more. If you need me for anything, though, you can just send me a message and I will gladly come back."

Nott shook her head firmly, setting down her now-empty mug.

"Oh, I think we'll cope for six months without you. Luc might get a bit bored, but he's a grown lad. He can go find Beau if he needs some enrichment."

"That woman will have him out fighting monsters before he knows it. Say, has he given much more thought to his profession?"

"Well, not particularly, but I'm afraid he might become a lawyer."

Caleb fought down a laugh at the thought of the boy in the frilly robes and wig that the profession required. It might add a certain gravitas, but he had thought Luc was too sensible of fashion for that.

"Oh?"

"Well, he's got his father's love for books, but I'm afraid he's picked up on some of the…extended family's talents, you know?"

"Ah, our criminal talents, you mean?"

"I didn't mean it like that—well, I suppose I did—but it's nothing serious. He's a good student, I'm sure he'll pick up whatever he wants."

"I am as well. When I return, I could always take him on as an assistant for some years, ja? Or Dolan might have room for another clerk. They got along very well on our last trip into town."

"Hmmm, maybe. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, won't we?"

"I suppose."

"So now that you've told me what you're planning, would you be open to telling me why you're going off with Fjord?"

Caleb choked on his cooling tea. "Ack—pardon me?"

Sitting back, Nott was clearly indulging herself with the slow smile that spread across her face.

"He was right, you know—I didn't _mean_ to read it, but you've been acting a bit odd, and I was worried, you know? I did ask you."

"First of all, I'm not going off with Fjord, I'm going to find a job and then, if I can't, I'm going to travel with him until I do."

"You didn't say where you'd be going until you knew his route," Nott pointed out gently.

"I—all right, you know me very well. I promise, if I knew where Jester were, I would be looking for her also." He paused, a small flinch of horror crossing his face. "Did you read all of my letters?"

Nott bristled just a little, shaking her head quite vehemently. It was true that there was nothing so incriminating he had written, nothing that Fjord could hold against him, but Nott might pick up more on the nuances that he had so agonized over.

"I read his, I… _skimmed_ yours. I promise, I was only looking for the travel part of it, so no, I didn't read the Jester letter. You know, she still hasn't told me what you said to her, or whatever happened."

"I am going to trust you on this, because it will be very embarrassing for me if I don't."

"I am absolutely serious, I didn't read those paragraphs and paragraphs! I didn't think you had so much to say to him, after, you know. Whatever happened that I don't know about. Anyhow, I know that some people like to travel, but…you have been acting differently. I can't not notice, Caleb. I just wanted to make sure everything was all right."

He felt a pang of guilt, looking into her wide and piercing eyes. Fjord had been right; she loved him, and he her, so why would she not notice? And…

"And you wanted to mess with Fjord."

"And I wanted to mess with Fjord."

"In that case, you'll have to forgive me, but I don't think I can tell you." Caleb felt himself smile sadly, like he hadn't had a reason to in a long while. Which was, of course, ridiculous, but his feelings had never adhered to any logic, had they? "I'm not entirely certain myself, but when I am, I'll tell you, ja?"

"That's a massive cop-out, you know."

"I do. For now…you could say I am pre-empting some kind of crisis. There are things I realized I might come to regret, even if I have been at peace with them. I am not sure how to resolve my feelings, and I cannot be sure how to move forward until I know what I will leave behind, so perhaps some travelling will put things in perspective. As you said, it has been a while. I do not want to be like Jester's parents, waiting years and thinking of a different life."

Nott fixed him with a searching look. "I'd say that sounds like absolute nonsense, if I hadn't done the same thing myself. I'll let you pass for now. I'm just glad you've got a friend to bring along with you, rather than just dashing off into the great blue yonder."

"Even if it is Fjord?"

"Don't tell him I said this, but he's a good sort. I know he'll take care of you. And, you just admitted that you're planning to make it far enough to meet him."

"You've caught me out, Nott the Cunning."

He put his hand out to her as she hopped up on the table, stepping across to give him a firm hug.

"It's my job, Caleb the Doormat. Stay for dinner at least, will you? Luc will probably want to say goodbye."

"Don't worry, I have not planned to leave until some days from now. I will visit Beau on the way."

"Good! You can take her some supplies. I'm telling you, the girl needs a bit of hedonism now and again."

…

"Caleb! Hey, how's it hangin'? I was just about to go down for dinner."

Beau waved him inside her small room at the Cobalt Soul HQ, which would have been austere if her travel pack weren't open on the floor and its contents strewn over the futon in the corner.

"It is going well, thank you," he answered, unshouldering his pack. "I thought I might check in before I left for the coast, since it is not very often that we are both free to visit, ja?"

"You can say that again. So you're what, gone for six months? Can't remember if you'd made a plan when you told me about it."

"I'm, ah, not sure. At least six months, I hope, though I may be gone for longer if I find a good job. And you? How long do you think this mission will take?"

Beau was unhurriedly kicking her stuff around the floor and back towards her pack, so he decided she wouldn't mind if he cleared off the desk chair and just sat there.

"Don't know. There's been a whole bunch of bullshit on the mountain borders lately, so I don't know if this is, like, connected, or just one or two groups. Could be a while."

"I'm sure you'll make quick work of it."

"Thanks. You wanna go down to the mess for a meal, or…?"

"Something a little stronger, perhaps?"

Beau gave him a grin. "Yeah, I get you. I ain't got much for the rest of the day, so what do you say we pub crawl? I'll just need a minute to get some stuff together, then we can hit the town."

"Did you know I was going to suggest that?" Caleb asked with mock suspicion. Beau just tapped the circlet she still wore.

"Could say I had a feeling. Even you need to relax once in a while. Gimme a moment."

Turning over her futon, Beau pulled out a small case from underneath her floorboards. The Cobalt Soul did have some rules on vices and fraternization, but it was mostly to ensure their disciples did their carousing discreetly rather than to prevent it from happening. If you kept it quiet and didn't let it interfere with the work, well, it was functionally permitted.

"Should I change? I did pack some slightly better clothes," offered Caleb.

"Nah, you're fine. Besides, you'll make me look good."

Beau pulled out a tunic in dark red and black from the chest, holding it up to contrast with her uniform. "Too strong?"

"It will look fine, especially in low light. How clean is your hair?"

A pleased expression crossed Beau's face as she ran her fingers through her bangs. "Doesn't feel too greasy. You think it'll be good down?"

"Maybe in a braid. I can do you a quick one."

"Awesome!"

There was barely time to turn towards the door before Beau started changing. He supposed there was nothing they hadn't seen before, but he was getting old and stuffy. Caleb took the time to comb his own hair with his fingers, making sure no knots had formed since he had set out that morning.

"God damn it—ah, there it is."

A jingling of metal indicated that Beau had found the leather belt she often wore on special occasions.

"You can turn around now, grandpa. You good if I sit on the chair, or is it easier standing up?"

Caleb quickly scanned the desk for hair ties, finally finding one three drawers down on the right side.

"Uh, sitting should be fine, I think?"

"Great. You'll have to get out of the chair first, you know."

"A little patience, please." He hesitated for a moment, then grabbed the fine-toothed comb from the drawer as well and hopped to his feet, bowing exaggeratedly.

"Your throne, Lady Lionett."

"Thanks, Cay."

Beauregard sat at the desk, ducking down into a different drawer to take out a nail file before sitting back and letting Caleb start his work.

"Rough work since you got back?"

"Can't let myself get out of practice."

" _Mein Gott_ , it's not even been a month. You can, I don't know, just maintain your level of fitness."

"Nah, I've got to have something to do, you know that. Don't want to get bored."

Caleb combed his fingers through her hair, deceptively long when uncoiled from its usual bun.

"I do know."

As he worked out the biggest tangles, Beau set about evening her split and ragged nails. Most of her bad habits were ones she'd left behind, but not her fidgeting.

"So, what's up with this little trip of yours? Just got bored?"

"I'm just going to sidestep that question and maybe answer you later. How does that sound?"

"Fair enough. What d'you want to talk about, then?"

"Are you happy with your decisions, right now?"

He took up the fine-toothed comb and started pulling it through in short stretches, starting from the bottom and going up. He had learned by watching Jester.

"Geez, and I thought you didn't want to talk about personal stuff."

"I didn't want to talk about _my_ personal stuff. You don't have to answer, I'm just…you seem like you have what you want."

"You know what, I think you might actually be right."

"Thank you for that vote of confidence. Would you like a plait, a rope braid, or a fishtail?"

He had a sneaking feeling she'd chosen the easiest option. Truth be told, his fishtails did tend to be a bit too messy for a night out.

"Nah, nah, I think you're on to something. Uh, how about a plait. Don't go too experimental."

"Go on."

"So, you know, I wanted to be enough. When I met you, I just wanted to be me, and I wanted that to be something that was enough reason for me to be. I didn't want to have to make up for being born, yeah?"

Caleb placed a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort.

"I know."

"Hey, don't worry. 'Cause I'm just thinking, now, I am _great_!" Beau threw her arms up and nearly threw him off balance. "I'm a kickass Expositor, I've got a whole class of little brats who love me, I've got the respect of this entire place behind me, I've got a teacher who's proud of me, I can go down to Nott's for a family dinner, and they'll have me."

Masked as it was by her throaty voice, there was such joy in her words that it gave him pause.

"And there's you guys, too. I can ask you to show up with a cask of wine and a dirty book, and you'll bitch about it, but you'll do it. Plus there's Yasha, and Fjord and Jes still keep in touch. I can trust that they'll be there if I need them, yeah? So you know what, I think I have what I want."

"Nothing you would change?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go as far as to say that. But nothing that I need to change, right now."

"Please don't think I'm being demeaning, but I am so proud of you."

"I know what you mean. Thanks, Caleb."

"It is nothing. Would you like the braid loose, or should I pin it up a bit?"

"Let's leave it loose. I'm getting peckish."

…

Beau led him a short ways from the monastery to a small hole-in-the-wall a few streets away, sharing the bits of gossip she'd cobbled together during her brief time back, the kind of shallow fun he felt they needed after she had shared so much with him.

"I do not believe I have been here before."

"Nah, we mostly come here when we need somewhere quiet. Half the people in here are professionals."

"Not a party place, then."

"Figured we'd grab some food here, since it's cheaper, then head somewhere more exciting once we're tipsy."

"An excellent plan, Beauregard. I will grab us a table."

They split off, Beau sidling up to the counter to order some food, and Caleb was struck with how close these people were to his heart. He forced his shoulders to stay where they were, squared and not curling inward. There was no shame in this.

He had made his decision.

It was yet early in the evening, and so he had little trouble sliding in behind a corner table and watching Beau chat with the barkeep, who looked neither frightened nor offended.

They were close to his heart, and when they were far, he felt it keenly.

"You say your classes this year are going well?" he asked once Beau returned with a pastie and a flagon of beer apiece.

"Absolutely," she answered through a mouthful, wincing. "Aaah, that's hot. Damn. Yeah, we've got a whole lot of recruits to the missionary branch, for some reason. Mostly spares, a few rebellious heirs, a few street kids that thought it was actually worth it for a meal."

"Any of them good?"

"Don't you know, Caleb? Every student has potential."

He scoffed. "Pardon me. Any of them competent?"

"They're not great, but there's one or two who had a family member train them up in your basic military self-defense. That's…I've got this…Nan, Malayat, and Bou. The rest of them are pretty good about learning once I show them what I can do."

"You have another student named 'Beau'?"

"Bou. It's kinda long on the 'o' sound. But yeah," Beau chuckled. "It's pretty confusing sometimes."

"Good for the mind, eh? I am glad they listen to your instruction. They will learn a lot."

"Gotta admit, I do sometimes go off on a tangent here and there about all the shit I had to learn the hard way."

"Exactly."

"F'r instance, I told them it's probably best to stand in front of anyone whose strength they don't know if they're in a fight. Just in case."

Caleb gave her a withering glare. "I see."

"I knew you'd understand," she teased. "Anyway, I get off easy. I'm like the fun auntie of the bunch, since I'm only there when it's time for real combat training. The other guys probably have to deal with the tantrums."

"Well, I suppose that is their problem and not yours, ja?"

"Hah, yeah. So, let me ask, what's this all really about?" Beau gestured vaguely at the two of them. "No judgment, just, it's been a while since you were on the road. What gives?"

He should have known he could not put it off for long. Then again, he supposed, if Beauregard had suddenly dropped everything to track down Jester, he would also have some questions.

"Well, you know how you said you don't think you need to change anything in your life?"

"Yeah?" She was not going to make this any easier for him.

"I…there are things I have not said or have not done, that I have in fact tried _not_ to do, because they would probably make my life difficult. But now I realize that I may have lost my chance. If I go further, it may be too late."

"Mid-life crisis then."

"You could call it that." He caught her eyes for a moment and realized that this, perhaps, was another thing he had not said that he would regret not saying. "But not truly. I do not fear growing old without having had adventures, nor am I looking for something to give myself meaning. I know exactly what it is I want."

Beauregard stared hard at him, neither smiling nor frowning.

"Good."

"What?"

"Good. You know what you want, and you're going for it. That's good."

"You're not going to pry further?"

"Why should I? I'm not getting anything more out of you in a public place, and so long as you're safe, I'm happy. What do you say we finish up here, and go somewhere with music?"

"I say it is a good plan. Thank you for this."

"Hey, my pleasure. I get what you're going through. Actually, it kinda makes sense that you're doing this now."

"How so?"

"You had years taken from you. It's taken you this long to catch up, and now, it's finally time for your post-college crisis."

…

_Dear Fjord,_

_I have set out from the monastery of the Cobalt Soul as of today, the sixth. Beauregard and I spent quite the evening on the town to mark my going-off. I would be inclined to think she just wanted a break from her work, but it appears that she is as fulfilled and satisfied as we had hoped she might be. She says that her students have been cooperative and have learned from her far more than their lessons. I should guess that she has told you this, but I will repeat it regardless, as I know you are always glad to hear about Beau._

_My path will take me west inland, past the borders of the Empire and south from there. I hope to travel quickly, as one person is not an imposition for a carriage or group to take along. Thus far I have been on foot; I am glad of a few small healing charms I have on me for emergencies. My road is long, and my feet may be sore if I move at the pace I wish._

_It has been some time since I travelled like this. I am reminded of our journey as the Mighty Nein, though less than I had anticipated. It is more peaceful. The solitude is more comforting than it would have been, yet not entirely. I find myself watching the woods to prevent my mind from wandering. There are many more different trees here than I would have thought, and between each of those a dozen shrubs, and more grasses and flowers still. I am of half a mind to start a travelogue, and would, but I have no time to find samples or sketch. May I ask if this is what you and Caduceus see? It is only the solitude that makes it stand out. It is beautiful. The woods will last some days, after which I come to the river._

_When I reach my next destinations, Talonstadt and Felderwin, I will stop by the post office to check for letters. Should I find nothing, I will assume that your plans are unchanged from what I was given. You may receive this letter far later than I intended, as I must wait to find a mail cart or until I reach Talonstadt._

_May your sword stay ceaselessly sharp,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Caleb Widogast_

…

_Dear Beauregard,_

_I have decided to write to you at least once on this journey for reasons you are free to guess. This day no carts with room passed me by, so I have walked through the woods and am camping. It reminds me of the early days of the Mighty Nein. I must hope that there are no robbers here, since I do not have you to catch one small crossbow bolt and leave me to fall flat on my ass. I am noticing the forest more. You would make fun of me, but having no one to talk to has turned my mind to other things. Please tell Caduceus that I am appreciating the Wildmother's work, especially her trees. The narrow portions of the road between two rows of chestnuts reminds me of the halls of your monastery._

_Little of note happened otherwise. I write this letter by the side of my campfire in a clearing. I doubt it will rain, and I hope it does not._

_I know you may not receive this until after your adventure in the North, as it will be sent when next I find a mail cart, but I wish you well on your journey._

_May your limbs stay strong,_

_Your sincerely,_

_Caleb Widogast_

…

_I got your letter today, the fourteenth. Good to hear you're enjoying the wild. I hope you're not getting too lost in your thoughts. If you want to start sketching, or do a bit of light worship, I'd be obliged. Even if you don't, the Wildmother still appreciates the compliment._

_Travelling will take some getting used to. Right now, it would take me a while to get used to staying still. Make sure to wrap your feet if you feel a blister coming on. You'll thank yourself later._

_Fjord._


	2. 2

_Dear Fjord,_

_It is the thirtieth, and I think I have caught up with your letters. Thank you for the physician's advice. It really has been a long while since I needed to use those tricks. I have offered some prayers to the Wildmother. I do not know if she can tell what comes from a genuine believer and what is a polite thank-you, but you said that something small was still better than nothing._

_My trip to Talonstadt was made quicker by a caravan. They were some carnival people, not from anything as grand as Molly's, but they had some fortune telling and some dancers. They were very kind, and they talked more than I had been used to for the first five days alone. They were journeying to Zadash, as we once were. I told them of some of our adventures, though with different names. I doubt they believed me. Still, they seemed to enjoy the story. I made sure to tell how you struck fear into a fiend at our first meeting, how Beauregard took down an oni, and more of our more clean-cut achievements. Of course, Molly was the favourite of the bunch._

_The woods turned to grassland before the river, but the bushes have stayed, in hedgerows and growing wild. There were some with silver-green leaves and seeds that my companions said could be threaded as beads. I collected a few, though I have done nothing with them yet. When opened, they have a powdery flesh and a striped, oblong seed. Do you know of these? It is not magic, I do not think, and I am curious._

_You must have been in Yultia or passed it by the time you receive this letter. What was it like? If I find no work before I reach that far, I may pass through._

_May your faith carry you where mortals fail,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Caleb Widogast_

…

_Dear Nott,_

_You will be pleased to hear that I have reached Talonstadt ahead of schedule. I was fortunate enough to ride with some carnival performers, who I told some of our stories from when we met the Mighty Nein. They thought you quite a character. Do not worry, I did not tell them your name or your history. They very much admired your skill with the crossbow, but that was before I told them of the time you shot at Jester. In return, they read my fortune. Apparently, I need a nice young lady in my life. I told them I already have two nice young ladies, yourself and Beauregard, which they said was a good joke._

_I am missing you as I travel, but it has done me good to spend some time with myself. I have spent rather too long avoiding him. The land here gathering up by the the mountains is beautiful when not in turmoil. I think more and more of where I might go before I return home, though I do not yet know where home may be in the future. For now, I will be returning to you and family._

_May your mind be ever clear,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Caleb Widogast_

_Postscript: You can respond to this message._

…

_The silver bushes are called Wolf Willows. You can eat the berries if you want, but they don't taste the best. Good to hear that the Mighty Nein still has a reputation to uphold. I hope you told them about my single-handedly defying a god and you getting knocked out twice in the first trip we had together. For prayers, I'm sure the Wildmother knows that you give what you're able. It's very much like you to worry about not doing enough. Don't get caught up in it._

_Yultia is wilder than Przut. It feels good to be back in the woods, where there are bigger living things than just shells and seaweed. The shoreline is more of a forest that splays out towards the sea than a beach that stretches up on to the land. Most of it is pine, and the undergrowth isn't as thick, but there are too many raiders around to have much activity around the place. It's funny, that I'm counting that as good. The air's cooler here._

_I've stuck around longer than planned, actually, to help out with the raiders. The folk here live in fear, and I suppose I am a Paladin, after all._

_I'm writing to you from the infirmary we've got set up. It's a small town without many clerics, so I'm staying put for now. I know I can take more of a beating than most others here, and I'm not an urgent case. Also, the Wildmother grants me some measure of healing myself, but it just takes a bit more time and doesn't do quite as much._

_Since I've had more time to myself and my thoughts (as you can probably tell from the length of this letter), I've been wondering about how I should keep on going. I don't think I fully told you, but Jester has been collecting a group under the Traveller further north, and the rest of you are east of where I do my work. It is the nature of what I do to keep moving to where the Wildmother needs me, but a man has to have a home, and I don't think mine can be the road forever. I suppose I could just settle down in one of these towns someday, but I have to say that I'd miss you all. I do miss you, but it's one thing to miss someone while you're on the road, and another thing to miss someone when you know you're at home, and you're still far from the people you love. One is temporary, the other not so much._

_Enough of that. I've spent far too long with nothing to do but wait for my leg to heal or the one of the clerics to finish up with the locals, whichever comes first. I'm about an hour away from communing with Caduceus just to have something to do. I'd have done it sooner, only I've been thinking of what to say here. I'm no trained writer, like you, so I'm just writing what comes into my head. If you do find some work that suits you, tell me where you're going. If I can catch you without straying so far from my mission, it would do me good._

_Fjord._

…

_Dear Fjord,_

_It is funny that you should call me a trained writer. I did learn a way of doing this, but it is not a sign that I am good. I only put my words into a formula and get out…whatever this is. Mostly a way to pass my time by my campfire. I am sure my structure reads of a Zemnian and not a native._

_There was nothing in Talonstadt that needed a wizard or that travelled where I hoped, which was as expected, so I have pressed on to Felderwin. I feel I will be moving on soon from here also, as the traders that I have found mostly deal with farmers in the region, taking goods to market and all of that. I am sure it is good work, with good people, but some part of me wants to hear the sound of the sea. There are some small tasks I can do, though, so I will stay here for one or three days to earn a little coin._

_Having been on the road and before that on country paths, it is odd to be in a city, if one so small as this. I feel as if there is always someone in my space. It is not that Nott and Jester and all the rest of them ever respected my space, but it is different. I find myself looking for green amid the brown, though I know I will not find as much as before. Still, there is some quality about this place that feels as if I am in a different world. I understand about the loneliness of the road, perhaps more than you know. It is why I left my home to travel, or partly, and I do not know yet if it is joy or sadness that I feel about it. At any rate, I have treated myself to a bath._

_Be sure to take care of yourself in your fight. You are always aware of how hard you are to hurt, but I would not be a happy man if I made it to the coast after long, long weeks of travel only to find you bedridden for the next few months. I will ask the Wildmother to help you. Perhaps I can avoid the pitfalls of non-belief by praying for a believer._

_May you heal quickly (finally, a closure that did not take me several minutes to find),_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Caleb Widogast_

…

_Dear Caduceus,_

_I have at last left the fields and come to a city. Until now, though, the Wildmother has put many beautiful things in my path. I love the chestnuts and the wolf willows. On Fjord's advice, I have thanked her for the sights. All is going so far to plan. I have not yet found suitable work, but I should earn some small amount during these days in Felderwin, as there is need in one or two places for a wizard of my abilities._

_I have found myself at a strange sort of peace. As you suggested, I write when I can to maintain my awareness of self, but I still feel as if I exist somewhere that is not very much this world. I am on this journey because I felt myself approach a crossroads that I would see but once. Perhaps this is my crossroads. I remember back to your words about what was planted many years ago. This may be a flowering, or it may be another drift of snow. Regardless, something happens. I am glad to have you and the Mighty Nein with me in these letters._

_Fjord has written to me that he is someone injured. It is likely he will heal far before you receive this letter, even before he receives my letter, but he said he may be talking with you to assuage his boredom. I suppose he is much better that he was, but his attitude towards his own injuries has not wholly changed. We are still the people we ever were, only it is funny to think that now, and less sad._

_May your garden fade only after it has bloomed,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Caleb Widogast_

…

"You're sure?"

"Absolutely. It is no trouble at all."

Caleb held his hand out for the woman to shake, trying to project the honesty he felt. Perhaps that was why he was so good at lying; rather than his untruth seeming honest, it was more that his truth had same nervous insecurity as his deception.

"Right. Well, thanks," the woman said, embarrassed. "I know it's a small thing, but…"

"Do not worry. Words are important, especially these ones."

The woman caught his eye awkwardly, a gesture he tried to return with a reassuring glance.

"Yeah."

To forestall any further conversation, Caleb handed her back a sheaf of papers covered in the looping script he used for letters. Education had improved greatly in the Empire since his childhood and even since their adventures, but grown people could not learn to read or write overnight with the same ease they spoke.

Upon his arrival in Felderwin, he had stopped briefly by the temple of the Wildmother to see if any letters had arrived addressed to him. The attendant there had asked him if he wrote, to which he replied honestly, and he soon found himself directed to a booth in the main square. Apparently the season had brought with it a backlog of messages that needed to be sent between farmers and merchants, suppliers and buyers, families needing more help during the harvest and wayward children called back to their homes. The scribes who usually took piecework were so overwhelmed that they were glad of a few days' help from Caleb, and he was glad of the opportunity for a few silver.

For the most part, he had handled the personal correspondence these past two days. Those with better knowledge of the area were able to add important details to business writings, such as the addresses to which parcels should be sent or the dates set by the town council for tax collection. This letter was somewhat different than the norm. Instead of providing a long report of family squabbles and goings-on with a few invitations home, it was a simple message, and subtle. The woman writing had dictated it with practice, a human normally of few words who had clearly turned this over in her thoughts for some time.

 _Dear Irin,_ it read, _summer has gone. The days are short, and we are in for a difficult harvest. There were storms since you left._ It went on for a while, talking about things that seemed mundane, before turning back to the weather. _When it is colder, the snow might block the road here. Your journey back should come with the spring, if you want to be safe. I have started to prepare for the winter, which will be long but not forever. At least, I hope so. Take care of yourself. May your road lead you back home_ …

The woman had said she could sign her name herself before she sent it, and she did, adding a postscript that she hid with her hand while writing. Taking the papers from him and returning his pen, she pressed a silver into his hand.

"Thank you," she said, and turned to go.

A part of him wondered why she could not just dictate her meaning directly. This Irin, they might not understand the hurt that the woman clearly felt from if they were to read the letter. They might see a warning to stay away, or a condemnation rather than the plea it was. And yet, he understood exactly why she must cover her intentions. To say outright _I miss you, come back to me, I am hurt but will not be always_ , that opened the possibility that Irin, whoever they were, may not come back. That they might know exactly what it is she felt and they might still reject her. Better to send a letter of double meanings and receive a reply in the same vein than to be outright denied. It was what Caleb had always done—you cannot be said to fail if no one can prove you tried at all.

Caleb watched her with a hollow feeling as she left the cluster of scribes' booths, desks and chests set up beneath canopies of canvas and oilskin, and was lost in the small crowd around the town square. Lucky farmers and merchants from warmer regions were set up in front of storefronts selling summer vegetables and some fruits, with a few carts set up to sell cheap jewelry or wooden crafts. The carnival workers that Caleb had briefly travelled with would be here in a week's time, once they finished in Talonstadt, but for now it was quiet.

He leaned over to the scribe next to him and whispered, "Who's next?"

"Hired hand, name of Tharinam."

"Thanks." Leaning back, he shouted out across the square in his best Fjord-voice, which wasn't very good. "Tharinam! Letter for Tharinam!"

A few seconds later, a rail-thin worker with long hair and clothes at once too large and too short shuffled up, self-consciously brushing long dark dark hair aside.

"Hello," said Caleb, a little too loudly, since he had misjudged their proximity to his booth. "You left with us that you have a message you want transcribed?"

"Um, yes," said Tharinam even more awkwardly. "It's, uh, well, start with 'Dear', I think, unless that's too formal? Dear, um, Dear Grashin—"

"Please pardon me, but how is that spelled?"

The rest of the letter was as excruciatingly disjointed as the first few words, but it went more smoothly. It was a simple report back to an aunt thanking her for getting them a job here, nothing so personal as the woman's. Tharinam paid him promptly and left with a nervous smile, which he was quite able to return.

Still, he felt a restlessness in him the same as that which had him on the road, and it stayed with him until the end of the day.

…

_Dear Fjord,_

_I was able to get passage on a merchant's cart headed for Zadash, in return for identifying some items she has with her. I had initiated the spell earlier in the day before, having purchased some supplies supposedly imbued with utility spells, so it is a good deal._

_My days in Felderwin were spent writing letters. A travelling scribe earns less than a wizard, but there was writing work and not magic work, so it is all the same. Mostly I sat in the town square and slept in a shared room in the inn. There is nothing notable, good or bad, about it. The town is not much different since last we saw it, though of course there is no Brenatto Apothecary and Yeza, Luc, and Nott are back home. In this season the town is very brown, as I said, the fields gold and the wood dark. There are small star-like yellow flowers all round the town, whose name I do not remember in Common, but which are called Loewenzahn._

_It has only been some days since my last letter, but I have little else to do on this cart but write. You do not have to read these letters, nor do I expect you to, as it is the act of putting words to page that is my purpose. It helps me remember what I have seen. Between Felderwin and Zadash is mostly fields, though there are trees planted as windbreaks and barriers along the dry stone walls. There are some people in the fields, since harvest is near for some crops, and most wave and shout a greeting as we go by. I will have you know that I shout back. The merchant, Liv and I have talked some, but she does not feel the need to speak her thoughts, and I cannot always put mine into words, so it has been mostly quiet. She is from the north like Yasha, she has not lived there since she was a child, and she mostly takes goods back and forth from Zadash to Felderwin and Talonstadt, then back._

_May you win your battles without bloodshed,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Caleb Widogast_

…

_The flowers are called dandelions. Loewen means lion in Common, so you weren't far off. They're a weed and they spread like wildfire, but the leaves are edible and they look mighty pretty in the spring. I'm surprised there were any in bloom this late. For the most part, they turn grey in late spring and float away bit by bit. The stems are all that's left for the rest of the year._

_I like to read your letters. It's been a long while since I was needed in the east, with Melora being so strong there. Reading these reminds me of what I left behind after we split up._

_It's good that you're still using your people skills. Trust me, if I weren't trying to hit towns as often as I could, mine would get rusty._

_Speaking of rusty, I'm finally back on my feet. The town council agreed to let some merchants use the port as a base of operations in return for hiring mercenaries to get rid of the raiders. Strictly speaking, this means I've made things worse for the Wildmother, so it looks like I'll be spending another week or two here until I get a better grasp of the situation. I guess it makes sense. Even after a few years, I still don't think before I do anything, and shit like this happens. Let's hope I can fix it before long._

_Fjord._

…

"These people fought for their home, and I hope they'll find sleep here. May their faith carry them."

Fjord stepped back into the gathering of the able-bodied at the graveyard. As in most coastal towns, Yultia had one stone temple to the Stormlord, but his priest had been incapacitated by the fighting in the town, leaving Fjord to give the speech. The Wildmother's shrine was off in the woods, and didn't quite get the attention that this one did. Honestly, if he hadn't been undercover for so long, he didn't know what he'd have said. There wasn't much chance to talk when you were alone. Now here he was a Paladin, cribbing from his pen pal. It fit him.

What was Fjord, if he wasn't bits and pieced he'd stolen from the people he—?

No, not going there. This wasn't the time to bring that back.

"Hear," a voice called from the crowd, followed by a murmur of assent, and the group started to disperse. They would mourn their own families by themselves, and besides, there were still plenty of wounded. Not everyone had the a god close to hand. Which reminded him…

He whispered a quick prayer under his breath and drew on the hollow grasses along the beach, the flies that had buzzed about the corpses before they buried them, the mice that skittered out from their holes now that the sun was setting.

Stems curled out from the graves, sucking food up from the corpses and sprouting leaves first, then buds, then flowers. The Wildmother's kindness.

Behind him, he heard a few folk whispering, but they seemed to decide against saying anything. Probably for the best. He didn't know what he'd say that could make it better, and saying that some of it was his fault, for picking the fight in the first place, well, it would probably make it worse.

He tested his foot. Pretty decent healing, considering he'd spent most of his energy on the others.

What now?

It was a bad habit, being honest, but not half so bad as being dishonest. What he'd written to Caleb was true. If he were really following the Wildmother, he'd stay because he had to step in and negotiate some kind of agreement with the guild they had brought in, to keep the carnage to a minimum and guard against the fires of industry. He _would_ stay, of course. There was just another reason for that.

_You can stay for both. There is no wrong in that._

Something loosened in his chest as he felt Melora's presence. Or maybe Deuce's, but his messages had their own flavour.

Standing over three flowered graves, he let out a shaky breath. There was time to tackle this. The pirates' coalition, the expanding trade routes, the wild things of the world falling to criminals, merchants, townsfolk who wanted to live a little better, and who didn't feel what they were doing. Truth be told, most of it was fine. He just _felt_ something wrong about all this, and she was always good about the feelings.

Speaking of feelings, the pressure on the back of his neck had lifted. A quick check revealed that the graveyard was clear, and no one would see him walk out to the shoreline. Not that he was up to anything sketchy, no, it's just that he didn't like to be seen like that. It wasn't the paladin or the Wildmother's follower who walked there, it was Fjord. No family name. No history, no allegiances, just…Fjord.

That's where the problem was.

He took the road out of town, then crossed to the sand, walking around the small clumps of salt grass on the upper beach. The air wasn't cold, but it was cool, something soft on his face.

What was there to think?

Not much. There was the Wildmother's presence. There was his mission. There was the sea.

His hand went to his pocket, where he'd stashed a stub of graphite and an oilskin pouch with a few paper scraps he'd begged off of the local inn's owner.

He knew what he was doing when he'd chosen this. He had known.

But bit by bit, without him noticing, everything had changed.

Nott had her family, yeah, and of course Caleb would stay with her. Beau had her own calling. He had his. That was all par for the course, and he knew that wherever he was, they'd be there, where they were. You could say part of Deuce was always with him. It was good. It was fine.

Then there was the whole thing with Jessie. That was…fuckin' painful. It was his fau—

No, he wasn't thinking about that.

_That may be the problem._

He stood on the edge of the waves, salt water dripping down his face as the Wildmother let him know again that she was listening. Or maybe it was his own thoughts, but they had a different flavour.

_It hurts, but that pain's a part of you. Denying it, you're denying yourself._

He hurt Jessie pretty badly. He was trying so hard not to hurt her and it was trying like that that he—he—

_That ain't all._

She hurt _him_. She left him all alone and whatever the hell happened, she took Caleb with her. Why was he involved? What did he have to do with it? Why the hell was _he_ involved? Jester, she had the right to hurt him, but Caleb? What did he ever do to him? What did he do?

_Nothin'. You didn't do anything. It was all between him and Jessie._

He knew why Jessie was so hurt by what he'd done, but when she and Caleb had their fight, he didn't even hear the shouting. One day, they were all having a drink with Beau and 'Deuce. Fjord went to bed early. The rest of 'em stayed up chatting during the night. The morning, Caleb was gone. Beau said he and Jes had a fight, and after that…well, there'd been a few good months, and then Jessie asked him the question he couldn't bear to answer.

All he got from Caleb in the two years since was one or two reports from Beau, but honestly, he hadn't tried to talk to him. There hadn't been a need to. They hadn't fought, the two of them. There was no grudge between them. There was nothing.

_Then why's it feel like he hurt you?_

God damn it if he knew why, but some part of him must have thought Caleb would want to be his friend, even without Jessie between them. He really, truly, honestly, had believed it.

_He said he cared._

He did.

Fjord let go of the graphite he held, letting it slip back into his pocket before he broke it. With his other hand, he wiped his face. The saltwater would fall to the sand and, when the tide came in, run into the ocean that it came from.

Why had Caleb sent that letter?

…

The world didn't stop when you wanted it to. Fjord was up early the next day for a walk out to the outpost set up by the guild downwind of Yultia. Several tents, striped canvas, mostly, had been set up to house their representatives and provide a seat for negotiations where the town council would be off balance. The land sloped gently down to the sea here, with a dip between sand dunes almost seeming a road to the water, where a small clipper was moored at the improvised dock. Four fires, three small and one large, burned at intervals down the shore as the crew and mercenaries dried clothes and cooked a breakfast for themselves. The higher-ups would be in the square tents, eating something fetched earlier from the one inn in town, which Fjord had passed on his way here.

Cover was sparse on the dunes, with only short, coarse grasses clinging to the sand. The forest stopped far short of the water by the town, though it crowded close on the cliffs just north, so Fjord had to stop a ways off from the ship, or else risk being seen.

He said a quick prayer, and steadied himself. Behind him, in the east, the sky had turned the pale gold of morning, but the sun was still hanging back behind the limbs of the trees. He couldn't blame it, wanting to stay nestled in the hold of the forest this early.

"Paladin?" A woman, who would have been a black smudge on the sand without his nightvision, hailed him with a wave. "We didn't expect you so early."

"Bed rest can do wonders for a man," he called back. "Even make him wake up in the morning."

A faint laugh sounded from where she stood, one of a few guarding the ship's landing. The guild's folk had been nothing but cordial since they showed up, following a lead that Fjord had only managed to produce after hinting _heavily_ to a few ship's crew, but they were still there for pay. Their help against the coalition in Yultia was bought with the promise of safe harbour and unchallenged trade in the coming years, which Fjord had weighed heavily against the consequences of letting the town grow.

In two months, the dunes would have been raked down and bricked over, the salt grasses burned as kindling and trampled by horse's hooves. The little-used canal inland would be doubled in width, old trees torn out by their roots, and travelling merchants would spill out from the road into the town and over the grassy sides. The canal, weaving north an east through locks built by the Empire in days gone by when they feared an attack from Tal'Dorei, cut through through to the river Damali. The fish there already struggled to breathe the waters choked by horse manure and bones, thrown off by bargemen from their meals. He had weighed those odds. He felt them pressing down on him.

Still, these merchants would not destroy what could be fruitful next season, they would plant seeds along the new banks of the canal to keep erosion under control, and they would take pressure off the overcrowded sprawls of Zoon and Damali. The folk here might make more money for what they sold, and in turn would stop dredging the ocean waters for anything they could find, just to have enough to sell. The world turned onward, and he had choices that wouldn't make themselves.

Below him, as the sands turned rosy, the woman on watch reached the end of her route and backtracked, walking a crescent shape from north down to nor'noreast.

Fjord made his way slowly down to the tents, heavy feet not kicking up the amount of sand you might expect. He'd had the experience, after all. Most of the sailors or mercenaries gave him a wave, those fighting the raiders tending to be the decent sort, and he returned that kindness. To be a Paladin was more than just a job, it was a…a part. A persona.

_A mask._

After some minutes walking down the dunes, he came to the canvas tend guarded by two fighters in the official livery of the guild.

"What brings you here this morning?" asked one of the guards, an older-looking human with a scar across their throat.

"If the representatives are so amenable," said Fjord evenly, "I might like to talk with them about fortifications going forward."

"We'll pass on the message. Gertie?"

The other guard, a young-ish woman, nodded once and ducked behind the entrance flap.

"That was some fair fighting, against those pirates," he added by way of conversation. "It's not often you see a polearm used like that."

"Thank you, Paladin. Was how I was trained, back when I was on the border."

"Border? Which side?"

They fixed him with a sly look. "Can't tell by the accent?"

"I most certainly can," Fjord countered, switching into Vandran's broad drawl for the moment, "But I'm sure you could me tell by this accent, ain't that so?"

"You're cleverer than most. Born and bred in Xhorhas, me."

"I spent some time there, years back. Can't say it was in the best circumstances, but it seemed a good place."

The guard shrugged. "No better or worse than anywhere else, I suppose. I haven't been back since the war ended."

Before Fjord could go further, Gertie ducked back out.

"The Masters are ready to see you, Paladin!"

"Thank you for the hospitality," he said, nodding at the other guard. "I'll show myself in."

He ducked further than he thought he had to, a learned habit after banging his head on many, many thresholds, and stepped inside the tent. Pavilion. Fancy for a tent, restrained for a pavilion, with sap-soaked canvas instead of silk, but still furnished well. From this antechamber there was a small doorway through to a seating area, several cushions around a low table. The back wall of the tent was open to the next structure, where a fire burned beneath a higher, still drooping ceiling.

"My apologies for the early hour, gentlefolk," he said. "But now that the fight's ended, I suppose we have some matters to discuss."

The guild representatives, one richly-dressed and three merely well-attired, were seated in a semi-circle across the table from him.

"Please sit down, Paladin. Have you eaten?"

"I'm afraid I have, though I thank you for the hospitality." Sweeping his blood-stained cloak to the side, Fjord sat down facing the guild and waited for one of them to speak. In his life, he still believed it was better to let the other guy do the talking, and then jump on what they said rather than trying to come up with something on your own.

"We have already negotiated a plan of trade development with the town council," said the main representative. "So if it's that you wish to discuss, we may have to wait for them to join us."

"I am well aware," he answered, waving a hand calmly. "They're the ones who know this place, so I'll leave the business end to them. I'd prefer to discuss your plans in my capacity as the Wildmother's champion, not the town's."

"Very well. What would that entail?"

"Well, I know that, as merchants, you must have some knowledge of the value of things."

"You could say it is our mission, yes."

They were sure to be courteous, which he appreciated after the days of brawling.

"Then that makes my job much easier. It may cost more to put stones down on the road in the next few years, but over time, it takes more work to keep a dirt road smooth for carts. All I ask is that you treat the lands around this town and the route inland with some care. If you cut the trees down by the canal for your barges or docks, then in a year or so you'll have to dredge it up to keep the way clear. If your crews take all the fish from this sea, they'll be going hungry down the line. You understand my meaning?"

"I believe we do," said the main representative.

"Don't worry," a more junior one chimed in. "We have no interest in cutting and running, not with the dividends we have to pay."

"I never said you did," he answered smoothly. "But I am glad. The uplands here are wilder than anything near Nicodranas, so the last thing we need is another Feolinn clearance."

The guild members considered this carefully. They understood that the two groups here would always be at odds.

"Are we safe in assuming that there may be some…retribution, were any contractors to expand too far?"

"Not retribution, only consequences. I feel it would be in all our best interests to start slow and stay careful."

"Sound advice," said a third representative in a voice cracked by either age or tobacco. "Is there anything else you must discuss, Paladin?"

"Since you mention it, I would be indebted if you all could share with me any piracy or smuggling you've noticed about the place. I've been up and down this coast for most of the year, and forgive me if I'm just missing something, but the crime seems to be more organized than we're used to."

This caught their attention. The four didn't even bother to hide the glances they exchanged, thought maybe they didn't think Fjord knew enough to note it.

"Yes, um, that is right."

"Any idea as to why? It's certainly been making my life more difficult."

"Well, it's—it's complicated. What do you know of piracy?"

He learned forward, not needing to fake his curiosity.

"Some. I like to learn."

The older one coughed deeply into his hand, then held up a finger to announce himself.

"Pirates, then, are a mixed group. Most just want money. There are those who are skilled enough at moving rare or stolen goods that it is simpler for them to smuggle than trade honestly in the ports. They run routes from Tal'Dorei to the Concord, for the most part, or in old days from the Concord to Xhorhas. Then, there are those pirates who are more skilled at fighting, and prefer to steal from honest merchant ships. Those are mostly malcontents, or ones greedy for more gold than they get hauling cargo."

"I see. If you can get more money fighting than working, they'll fight."

"Somewhat. What is changed now is that, with Xhorhas back on the map, there is more money to be made in trading through the ports. Our enforcement is better, taxes are lower, there is less chance of arbitrary arrest…really, there is no reason for folk to be going into piracy. So the old crews, the known ones, they don't have the recruits they need to run their raids. Only, there is good money to be made on smuggling routes from Tal'Dorei."

"So…?"

"There have been, ah, reports of human smuggling. They need bodies for themselves and clients, to feed the fires of industry, and there are many parts of the coast or the northern regions where they have strong bodies and no defense. At least, that is what we have heard."

"Is that so."

"Indeed."

"Sounds like a nasty business," Fjord said calmly. "Thank you for the lesson, representatives."

"Will that be all, then?"

"I believe so." he rose to his feet and gave a measured bow. "I'll be on my way."

They seemed too willing to let him go without more pleasantries. If he were feeling charitable, he'd say it was because they were keen not to offend him. Or, they could just be waiting to get him out of their hair. He'd keep his promises to them, whatever they thought.

Now, he had said to Caleb that he would stay here.

He'd keep that promise, too.

…

_Dear Fjord,_

_I would say you know what I am about to write here, but it has been some time since we spoke, so I will write it out this once. You always give yourself too little credit for your work. You have saved a town from raiders on your own and all you can say is that you need to fix this? Come on._

_I fear I may not be as likely to find a job as I had thought. Though Zadash is prosperous these days, they are not looking for travelling workers but rather ones who will stay in one place. I was able to earn some pocket money under Pumat, which should keep me until Nicodranas at least. He is well, and he is appreciative of my cleanliness this visit. He inquired after our group. I hope it does not offend you that I told him of your work. I was sure to be kind. He has asked me to pass on his admiration of your chosen path, to leave behind all the power you had and linger so close to the sea, but never falter._

_My work here has been pleasant. Pumat is good company, and his skills are admirable. To work with him is more rewarding than it is disconcerting, but I think I will be leaving within the week. What remains to do is some transcription that is more within my field of expertise, and a visit to the Archive of the Cobalt Soul where I will post a letter to Beau, though she is away on a mission, I think._

_Be well. Though I am weeks away, I almost find myself wanting to make it to Yultia, or Ulicadram—wherever you may be—to see the sea once more with a friend and not alone. If anything I can do will help you, tell me, please._

_May you—_

…

"If I may, you have been staring at that thing mighty hard."

Caleb nearly snapped his pencil at the voice that appeared far too close behind him for comfort. Hurriedly, he folded his parchment and stuffed it in one of his more secure pockets. He was folded awkwardly over a small wicker chair, seated in a corner that would be fully dark if not for the dancing lights, crowded in by stacks of books and parchment that reached over his head. Immediately behind him, Pumat cast a long shadow.

"You'll have to pardon me, Pumat, just some, ah, some correspondence. I do not want to be caught too much in my own thoughts, so I write to the Nein. You know."

"I understand. How far are you on the ceremonial spells, hm?"

"Ah, yes, I believe I am finished." He clawed at the stacks of paper on the makeshift desk he had made from—yes, more stacks of books. "Here…yes, these should be correct. I am just taking my midday break, and then I will be starting on some tenders."

"Great. Would it help if we talked?"

"Pardon?"

"You look like you're under some duress, there. I hope—"

"Ah, I'm sorry, I promise, my work here has been _very_ enjoyable." He nodded for emphasis.

"Respectfully, I was referring to your personal correspondence."

The grin, already sitting awkwardly on his face, froze in place. He was, of course, grateful for Pumat's friendship as well as their professional acquaintance, as it was the reason he was able to work here in such peace, but this was somewhat of an unwanted side effect.

"Is there a way for me to escape this line of conversation?"

"Oh, of course. You could just not talk to me about it, it's no problem. But you look like you could use a chat."

Sensing he'd lost this round, Caleb let himself sit back in the chair as Pumat leaned comfortably against the wall, a look of calm and implacable curiosity crossing his face.

"I'm not sure there's so much to talk about."

"You _are_ planning on going down south."

To keep from other movement, Caleb locked his fingers together in his lap.

"Yes, yes, I am. It—I had planned to find work here or in Nicodranas that might take me elsewhere."

"Did you check out the job posting for the Wine Traders' Guild?"

"I did, thank you."

Pumat cocked his broad head to one side, smiling a little wickedly. They had found through their years of magical collaboration that he had far more of a sense of humour than he let on.

"Well?"

"It…it fit what I had wanted quite well, actually. I must thank you for the information."

"You didn't take it."

He let himself smile back. "Yes, a poor decision, I think."

"Any reason?"

"I am not really sure. Their route does not go as far west as I think I would have liked."

"Mm. Is that where you're sending that letter?"

Caleb nodded, giving over the victory.

"You are a very perceptive man, Pumat."

"Nah, I was just reading over your shoulder for a bit there. The simulacra aren't programmed to filter all the inputs, so some of them get directed back to me for clarification. One of which is messy writing."

The Caleb that had first met Pumat may very well have blown up at that, but this one was almost relieved to be spied upon, rather than his thoughts guessed so nearly.

"I suppose I should have saved this for my own room."

"I don't know. You wanted to talk about it."

"Not as much as you, it seems."

Pumat shrugged, brushing some of his hair back behind his ears.

"Hah. You've got me there. So, what are you going to do?"

"I do not know. Do you have some advice?"

"Well, I do happen to have some deliveries to make to Trostenwald. You going that far?"

Caleb nodded, and hopped out of his chair to stretch briefly while he had the chance.

"I may as well. I am glad to do you a favour."

"Great. Thanks. When you're travelling, follow your impulses. You're still young."

By Firbolg standards, perhaps.

"You might not think of it, but this is why I started this journey."

"You're young?"

"I do not have much time left to make poor decisions."

"Hah. You're funny, today."

"Not quite so much as you think." Caleb paused, and threw politeness to the wind. After all, Pumat did it first. "What is your biggest regret?"

Pumat, to his credit, took it well, blinking slowly and flicking an ear. The one he did intentionally, the other, not so.

"Well, I think the Cerberus Assembly would be it."

Caleb scrabbled at the unexpected answer.

"Sorry. I didn't mean—what were your regrets that were not mistakes?" He sighed, hands moving uncontrollably as he tried to find better words. "What made no difference in the world, but made a difference for you?"

"Hm. Well, I don't really regret the things I've done that were personal. Can't change 'em, why bother?"

That was a lie, he was sure, but he had pressed far enough. What Pumat had meant was that, however long ago he had erred, his regret was still with him.

"You have a point. What do you need me to take south?"

"Ah, nothin' much. Just some scrolls that need more security than your average mail coach might provide."

Beckoning Caleb, Pumat turned and headed towards his private office.

"Well, I am glad to do you a favour. Thank you for the advice."

"Did I give you advice?"

"In a way."

…

_May you remember the things you have done and the lives you have changed,_

_Yours,_

_Caleb Widogast_

…

_Dear Beauregard,_

_You may not have received my first letter, but I will correct it anyway to say that my plans have changed somewhat. I will be travelling south, but I will not search for long work until some months from now. My writing and my magic have earned me good money for now._

_Fjord has told me he fought some raiders along the coast near Yultia. The clerics were not enough to heal all at once, so he was obliged to take some days for bed rest. He says he is fully healed now, but you know how he is. I only hope he does not ignore his well-being. Even as he fights, he worries that he has not done enough for the Wildmother. He is still Fjord._

_I am doing some work with Pumat in Zadash, where I will leave this letter at the Archive of the Cobalt Soul for whenever you may find it. He is the same as ever—he eavesdropped on some of my letter writing, but it was all right, as I was glad of the opportunity to talk, that one time. I am to take some spellwork south to Trostenwald for him, after which I will either continue on to Nicodranas as I had planned, or I may take the west road through the foothills and the mountains. I am finding that I miss the woods and fields of our home, and I am eager to see more._

_There has been much time for me to think on what life may be as we grow older. I know more now than ever that I do not want to be apart from the Nein. It is going to be embarrassing the next time we see each other, but I must tell you again that you are my family._

_May you leave ripples in the world that last a century,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Caleb Widogast_

…

_Dear Fjord,_

_I realize now that I have been hiding myself from you. Pumat asked a favour of me, the transport of some magical scrolls to Trostenwald, which would have interfered with your locator charm. Now that they are safely delivered, I hope I will not be so hard to find._

_The road from Zadash to Trostenwald is nostalgic. I did not get shot so many times that I fell unconscious, nor did I wake up to a freezing rain. There were some ox-like creatures that I saw, but it was during the day and not at night. It is funny, how time passes._

_My path was slow, as there were many carts on official business that did not have the time or the mandate to pick up stray and shabby travellers. The walk was not so bad, though. I left the road sometimes and walked in the paths between fields and hedgerows, which are just now turning golden. The smell of ripe grain and the edge of rain and dust is pleasant. It reminds me of my home, which is now several weeks gone. Still, I feel called elsewhere. The world is wide, and I do not want to forget the things I have seen, nor regret the things I have not._

_I am writing this at my campfire. I do not know what else to write. I must write something. The sky is very nearly white. Up above is deep blue, more of cornflowers than the sea, and at the edge is orange. Between the two is a colour that is not white and is not anything else. The trees are now more oak than chestnut or beech, and some evergreen. I had not noticed before, but we have seen evergreens in desert places and in the northern lands. They are not of the cold or the heat, but of the harsh. You must think this very strange, my writing about nonsense, but it is better than anything else I have to say. I have not heard from the others, though I did not ask them to reply. I am sure they are well._

_The season is growing older, meaning that the road will become crowded as the harvest comes and merchants start off to Nicodranas to ship the grain. I may walk west instead, over the foothills and through the forest. It will be more pleasant, I think, and I will be on the coast before winter._

_May you never look behind in fear,_

_Yours,_

_Caleb Widogast_

…

_Dear Nott,_

_The journey has had many parts so far. Most recently I have been in Zadash, doing work for Pumat. You will be glad to hear he is well, as he is glad that you are well. He asked after the Nein, and my "short friend" in particular._

_There are many sights to see on the south road. With the season, the early harvest is being carried down, and many merchants are going south to collect the growings of warmer places for transport up here, before winter makes travel hard. There were many sticks and jewels, and buttons as well that you would have liked. I sketched some below, but do not call me Jester, for they are not very good._

_I carried some scrolls for Pumat down to the book shop in Trostenwald—very nostalgic. That is where you found our platinum flask, did you not? Or was it a goblet? I spent some time in the book shop, which had some nice volumes, but nothing magical of interest. I bought a silly novel instead, to read by the campfire when I am not writing. It is the story of some sailors in the early war with Xhorhas who discover an island in the Serrated Sea that is the fount of the monsters. Like I said, very silly._

_How is Luc? How is Yeza? I am missing you all, of course, though I do not regret setting out. I hope Luc enjoys his few years of freedom before he chooses his profession, though there is plenty of time for adventure after that, as well._

_May your autumn be long and winter short,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Caleb Widogast_

_Postscript: you can respond to this message._

…

_Dear Fjord,_

_I am now on the west road. I had not realized how much the crowds had grown around the Gates—it can take days to pass by, is what I heard from those waiting there, and I have little to carry with me, so I simply turned to the right and started walking. I am now two days into the forest, which is a comfort, as the first flakes of snow came down on me just recently. Though the leaves block the sun, I am more glad for their cover from the wet. There is a mix of thin, tall trees that tremble and evergreens here. There are fewer flowers than I had expected, but many shrubs and brambles. I very nearly tore my trousers the other day. I think I am starting to look somewhat like I did when first we met. You will recognize me easily when I make it far enough west to see you._

_There are few people here, which is comforting again. I was glad of conversation with Liv (see, I remember her name, even) and Pumat, and the travelling carnival, but now I feel I need more time with my thoughts. I know. I will not get lost in them. This journey has been good for my own sense of clarity._

_I have not been entirely honest with you as I am writing these letters. Four days before I first wrote to you, I realized that I had regrets I had not fixed or forgotten. This travel may be one of them. To see the road stretching out before me reminds me of where I came from, and where I wish to go._

_I am finding I have more use of my magic on this western road. There are few outposts and fewer villages, meaning that I have foraged and hunted for myself even since leaving the road, to ensure enough provisions for the route. I am missing Caduceus and Yeza's cooking on this road. Have you heard from Caduceus, of late? I wrote him a letter, but it has been some time since, and I did not ask for a reply, nor give him the location of my next destination, as I was unsure of my arrival._

_Pardon me. It seems this letter is very disjointed, but it is late, and I have walked far today. It has been too long staring at paper for me to make sense of it._

_May you understand what is necessary,_

_Yours,_

_Caleb Widogast_

…

_Dear Caduceus,_

_You must be busy now with preparations for the winter. I regret that I will not be there to help, but I am sure you and Beau and Nott's family will have it well in hand. If Yasha is there with you, please give her my best. I am sorry to miss her, too._

_There has been a small change of plans since I wrote you last. Instead of walking south through the Gates to Nicodranas, I have taken the west road over the foothills to Port Zoon in hopes of avoiding the crowds of traders that are loading up for the winter season. There is no real reason I must go to Nicodranas, after all. I am sure that it is beautiful as always, but the forests on the inland slopes suit me far better. It must be the fire in me that loves the woods. There are thin trees here that are turning paint-yellow instead of red or brown, which lights the forest up much better than just the sun these days, as clouds come in often from the sea. Do you know what these are called? I have mentioned it to Fjord, as he has spent some time along the coast, but my letters may reach you before him. To what I know, he should be in Yultia still, but he has plans to move west and north along the coast. There are some battles he may have to fight that will delay him._

_I suppose he will have told you all this, but I worry less to write to you about it. Now that I am looking at the rest of my life, I believe more and more that you were right about your "destiny." Thanks to you and the Nein I have lived much longer and much happier than I had ever thought, and now I am even well enough to seek after what I want, not just force my content with what I have. I feel something pulling me west even now, and with the piecework I have done I have enough to make it there before I take a job. Maybe even I will run into Fjord, while he is here._

_I must be getting sentimental in my old age. You are a reason I can walk now with as much freedom as I do, knowing that I have a right to be here. You have taught me happiness, and I can only hope that you have the same happiness for yourself. Tell me if you do or don't, will you?_

_Some notes about the garden: do what you see fit with my patch. I do not think it will suffer much if it is left to be, though of course I would appreciate if you were able to prepare it for wintering. The Wildmother provides, does she not? I may not return in time to plant annuals, so those beds can lie fallow in the spring._

_May your work be light and fruitful,_

_Yours sincerely,_

_Caleb Widogast_

…

_Dear Fjord,_

_As the towns are few and far between on the west road, I will have to send my last letter and this letter from the same spot, which I think will be the town of Porjic two walking days ahead. If I run across a carriage willing to take them, then it will be sooner._

_I have also written to Caduceus to ask if he would clean my garden patch for the winter. It makes this journey seem more permanent; it is the first time in years that I have been more than a season away. For you, and Yasha, and Beau, and Jester, I suppose, it is not so much, but I was settled where I was with Nott. I really could spend my life there. Or, I could have spent my life there. As I wrote to you in my other letter, I feel that I have a chance here to put my untied ends in order. First, to travel, then to see that which I may not see again for some time. When I return in a season or more, I think I may plant something new, so that Caduceus' metaphors can have something to back them up. Maybe some dandelions for eating, if you said they grow easily. I am sure Caduceus will have advice._

_The thin trees I wrote of in my other letter are now so deep a yellow I would not believe it was natural. They may fade in a few days, but for now they are so bright in the sun they hurt the eyes, thought they are beautiful. Between the evergreens and these yellows I am reminded of how Nott once looked, and how you still are. Truth be told, I am reminded of the Nein in most things. You know well._

_You must be getting bored of the same over and over in these letters. What might you want to hear? I do not have much news of the Nein. If you are all right with hearing of flora in each leg of this journey, that will suffice. Otherwise, you must tell me what to tell you, or else it will be the same as all this. Trees and nonsense._

_There is one more thing that I can think of that may be new. I did not dream these past few years, but now they have started, and not badly, at least I do not think so. It is difficult to remember. One that I had last night was simple. I was in a busy port, one that I thought was Zoon but that was not, and I needed to book passage on a ship. Only, each time I tried to get out my purse, or tried to ask directions to the docks, or tried to talk with a crew, something would happen, and I would be back in the foothills. By the end of it, I was desperate. I even woke up sweating. If those are my nightmares nowadays, I can hardly complain. I hope I will have an easier time than that when I get to the Zoon._

_May your nights be as easy as my own,_

_Yours,_

_Caleb Widogast_


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter the ladies! I drop in without much context, so to clarify: Beauregard has been Expositing this whole time and is now pretty highly-ranked, but she prefers fieldwork so she's often at the edges of the Empire or otherwise far away from 'home.' Right now, she's on the trail of some mysterious happenings up in the Empire's northern colonies.
> 
> Jester is...well at the time I was writing, we didn't know who the Traveller was, so I had her following a mysterious and ambiguous god helping the travellers who were targeted for human trafficking like she was in her youth. Only, now we know he's Artagan, so let's say that Jester spread enough word of the Traveller that he's become attuned to the prayers of travellers and vagabonds, and she's doing what she can to answer those prayers. In terms of disillusioned youth, converts, and rescuees, she now has a decent few people in her caravan.

_I don't have much time to write, but the thin trees you're talking about are aspens. They keep fire from spreading when it gets dry here in the summer._

_You're probably clear of the forest already._

_Fjord._

…

Glad of his spelled coat and his scarf, the fur-lined leather gloves he had and the woollen over-mittens Nott had added to his pack, Caleb crested a foothill on the coast side of the mountains. His fire had always kept him warm, but in this damp cool he needed more magic than before to keep himself dry.

He took a moment to survey the land laid out before him. From the mixed evergreen forests, a sea of stubby grasses swept down over the hills and to a dry downland where the river Zoon meandered. Centuries ago, these lands were covered in forest, but the Dwendalian Army had long since chopped the trees for fuel and for a clear sight out to sea, where enemies might gather to invade through the forested path. Now, some sheep and cattle grazed, but most of the land was used for vineyards. Beau might know more about the wines they made, but to Caleb, they were all so many neat braid-like rows.

The harvest would be finished by now. In the days it had taken Caleb to cross the pass on foot, winter had made itself known. The golden trees had stood out painfully against the snow in the higher reaches of the foothills, though what fell was far less than he was used to, and now the wind had an edge to it that sawed at his face.

If he had a little more gold to hand, he might summon Frumpkin, who had been an owl to guide him, for a warmer scarf. For now, the wool and fur would have to do.

He breathed in, at once feeling the wind reach right through him. This was the very edge of the country, the last place he could turn back until Damali, the last pass that would be kept through the mountains. His choice was made. All that was left was to follow through.

The first step was difficult. To leave the home and people he loved for the world that called him out again to see it once, with open eyes. It crunched, as his foot came down on woody grass.

The next step should have been easier. A friend for years, Fjord had before that been someone he understood too well, or someone who he felt he _knew_ , more than Beau, more than Jester, more than—than Nott, a coward on the run. He had not been wrong. But this second step had him slipping slightly forward, the soles of his boots wet with the morning's dew.

The third step was rushed, half finished, a reaction to the slip that had him not moving forward, really, but shifting in place. He had always intended to find him, but to drop all pretense and search Fjord out was not what he had planned.

The fourth step was deliberate. He would go down on to the plains and walk between the rows of vines, to Port Zoon, and find some week's work that paid enough to take him west.

Arms pulled in and pack hiked up on his back, Caleb forded the grassy sea, dropping down where the hills gave cover and slinking along the edges of the fields. Above him, an iron sky swept in from the sea for war on land. The winter on the coast was not beautiful, not like the summer, with its green seas and sunny skies. Gulls cried. Waves roared. And yet Caleb could not help but be at ease, walking alone and knowing why.

…

Fjord kicked up the few fallen leaves on the forest floor to cover the shallow scoop where he'd been sleeping, having already packed the canvas lean-to. He should've known it'd been too easy, in the town.

It was almost nostalgic, having people fail to assassinate you. Reminded him of the time he died, or the night out they'd had, the three of them. They were talking about destiny over a greasy table. The things Caduceus said that put his heart at ease were almost negated by what Caleb's long stare stirred up, though the two both worked to make him thankful.

Still, he could have done without this particular attack. His money was on the smuggling coalition for culprits, since the merchants would have needed advance warning. Besides, whoever came after him came down from the north when he was already awake and setting out. Would've been easier for the guild to get him in his bed.

A few minutes later, the small clearing he'd found looked relatively undisturbed. Not that the sparser forests of the coast offered much protection from the rain, but it was good to have cover when you were on the run. Whoever they'd sent to kill him next was going to have a harder time of it.

Checking his sword and pack, the pouches on his belt and the left-handed dagger at his side, it seemed like he still had his full arsenal. From a pocket in his undercoat, he grabbed a stick of cured meat hard enough to chip your tusks on. It'd have to do for breakfast on the go as he made his way on a new route. If they were keeping track of his movements, they'd know he was on a northwestern path, and they should be waiting for him there.

There was still _something_ he was missing, something he needed to do, but damned if he knew what it was. In his months of surveillance he'd spread as much word as he dared about stronger raids, new alliances, and once—a few times, he'd been fast enough to catch stray party with a few halflings or gnomes chained between them. Figures, they'd go for the ones you could pack into boxes without much help.

That, he was sure, was what the Wildmother was calling him to fix, but—but—but he was alone, and this was something he couldn't fix. He couldn't scare them away and he couldn't fight them head-on, so he'd done what he could and he'd sent messages and he'd planted clues and it was something but it wasn't _enough_.

He didn't have anything solid to go on, just the ache in his heart that took him north and he needed to _do_ something.

_You've done something already_.

Stopping in place with the snap of a branch beneath his boot, Fjord breathed in. The wet of autumn seeped its way though the leaf mould on the floor. Mice and squirrels grabbed the last of their winter rations. Gulls cried over the sea. This work was his, and for the sake of this, he had to do it.

The despair would pass. With Caduceus, with Melora, it always did.

After three deep breaths, he started again, walking with a step lighter than people expected from someone his size. Faster than a walk and slower than a run, the gait flowed over the piles of leaves and twisting tree roots that made the forest floor. He planned to travel a day or so further in the cover of the forest, then try and find a more eastern road or sheeptrack to take through to Przut. They would have the supplies there to craft a long-distance spell or two. It wasn't a choice made lightly; he'd told the Crownsguard of the danger and told them to spread the word that sea raiders were coming over the mountains. The problem was, things were worse on the coast than in the Empire, but it was only the Empire that had the single force big enough to put them down.

Xhorhas suffered some, but not enough for them to be willing to commit a force. The ones who would give a damn were the Coastal merchants and the Concord, who were so busy squabbling among themselves that it was all Fjord could do to get ones with the funds to fight. They'd been happy to take Yultia, but a sustained campaign? He needed rogues able to track smuggling parties through the mountains, he needed fighters who could take a ship of pirates without risking their lives or leaving room for a hostage situation.

He needed the Nein.

He knew they'd come if he called. But Beau was over her head already with a hundred years of oppression in the Empire dying hard. Yasha followed her own holy mission. Jester—from her last proper letter, more than a year ago, he knew she couldn't be pulled away from what she was doing. Nott had a family. Caleb—

Unslinging his sword from one shoulder, he tossed it over the other, evening the load on his back.

Caleb was almost here, if he stayed on his path.

The Wildmother was, as usual, testing him in ways he couldn't guess.

Now, if only he could find the strength to pass.

…

Cursing, Beauregard fumbled with the key as she locked her captive's shackles. The wind was cold enough to freeze her through the undergloves, even in the lee of a rocky outcrop. She'd been too long on this mission. Winter had damn well caught her with her pants down.

"Please don't take my gloves, please don't take my gloves, please don't—"

"Chill," she snapped. "I'm not taking them. Just need to—shit—just need to lock you up, okay? You can keep your damn hands."

When the tell-tale _click_ sounded from the mechanism, she withdrew the key and shoved it back behind her chestpiece, wincing at the cold. She stood, hauling the plain-faced man up by his arm.

"Now, we've got two options, here. You can tell me what you're doing here, and you can spend the night in a nice, warm, cosy jail in Icehaven." She waited a moment, listening to the man's teeth chatter out of either fear or cold. Probably fear. If she was right, he'd been stationed up here for a while. "Or, if you don't tell me anything, then I won't be done my day's work, yeah? I'll just have to keep searching, and if I don't want you to freeze to death out here, I'll have to take you with me. Got it?"

"Yes," the man said miserably.

"Good. Now, what's your name, bud?"

"Aran."

"Aran, got it. You're not from around here, are you?"

"No."

Beau took another look at his costume, local-style like hers, but he'd had the undeserved self-assurance of an Empire citizen when he took her on.

"Then you're up here working, right?"

"Yes."

"And your work would be…?"

Whatever he said next was a bunch of muttering, so Beau gave him a sharp tug on the arm, though the snow was high enough that it didn't do much.

"Speak up!"

"Trading," Aran mumbled.

"Yeah? Didn't look much like trading to me. You see, with trading, you've got to give something in return, yeah? You can't just _take_ it. Now, what do you do for a living? What gets you these fancy furs? What's worth selling so's you can have a fire in the hearth, eh? What do you _do_?"

"I—I—I sell people."

People never learned, did they? Beau moved a hand over her face, getting her bangs out of the way for a good death stare.

"Right. That's the first real, honest answer you've given me. You grab _people_ , and you take 'em up to the shore, and you send them off, and all you think about is what you're gonna have for dinner. You see, I understand what it is you do. I know exactly who you are. It's why you're going to give me your bosses. Who are they, where are they based, and why they're only kicking up a fuss now."

"I am?"

"Yeah, 'cos you're a coward and you've got no fuckin' conscience. If you can strip someone of their humanity, then what's a little light backstabbing between friends?"

"They'll kill me."

She nearly laughed. Were all criminals amateurs, these days?

"Nah, they won't. After all, what'd you do? You just told a friend about a business opportunity, and then you got drunk and they chucked you in the clink."

"You don't understand—"

"Then I'll kill you now. They'll kill you later, but what I'll do is I'll take off your gloves and your nice, furry jacket, and I'll take you for a little walk. Do we understand each other? I'm gettin' tired of giving you the same threats and you not listening."

"Y-yes."

The snow was knee-high here, so it'd be a pain getting anywhere with the bastard walking alongside. Gripping him harder, she dragged him the last of the way to the two crossed skis she had buried deep in a snowdrift.

"Who do you work for?"

"L-lady called Helga."

Since he wasn't about to go anywhere, it was safe for her to grab the extra pair of shackles from her pack and undo them.

"What do you do for her?"

"Wait—what are you doing?"

Pushing down hard on his shoulder, she forced the bastard to his knees.

"Hey!"

"Quit whining, or I'll make you carry me. What do you do?"

Waiting for him to answer, she fitted the second, larger pair of shackles around his ankles. To his credit, he didn't even try to resist.

"I find people."

"What happens to those people?"

"I take them up to the shore. Helga 'n the crew take them from there."

Beau tugged on his shackles to check their hold, then swung him up and over her shoulders in a fireman's lift and reached for the skis.

"Take them _where_?"

"Dunno. Down south. They need more crew."

"Why's that?"

If Dairon and the rest of 'em hadn't forced her to hop from foot to foot along a wire or climb the sheer walls of the Expositors' pit with a braided length of fishing line, it'd have been a lot harder to balance on those thin skis with this dead weight on her shoulders. As it was, she slipped into them with the skill of a Northwoman, grabbing the poles that had been stuck in alongside.

"No one's joinin' up. 'S too much money to pass up, so we give 'em bodies."

"Money? What kind of money?"

"Money. I don't know where it comes from, but they're willing to pay for slaves. That's all I know."

Actually, it was probably for the better she couldn't see his face. It was easier to focus when it was just her, the white-out ahead, and the thin skis the local Crownsguard outpost had given her for the hunt. Not that she was ever naive about it, but somehow it still surprised her just how much evil was petty. You take someone from the people who love them and sell their life like it's a barrel of salt fish, and that's all you think of it, because it's your money.

"Yeah, I don't think so. Who's Helga selling to? What's her captain's name?"

"Captain's called Eric, I think. Everyone's buying."

"Who's everyone? Pirates? Smugglers? Don't think I don't know the difference."

If she jostled this guy a bit much when she was making her way forward, well, that was practically nice. She should've tied the shackles to her waist by a long rope, then dragged him like a carcass.

"Both. Mostly smugglers."

"Yeah, right. My old man was a merchant, he never turned his nose up at skeevy stuff. How much of it's going to Empire business?"

"I don't know, okay! I just—I just find people, and I give 'em directions!"

Give them directions. Give them directions. _Give_ them directions. Whatever this guy was on, she's almost want to have some of it.

"I find out you've been hiding anything, I'm coming right back down to kick your ass."

"It's Helga! She's the one who—just talk to her, she does the collection around here, Eric has a line to the boss, I'm just a guy. I don't even get real pay, just a commission."

"Shut the hell up."

Beau set her jaw and strode forward, spreading the snow under her like butter. The winter was setting in, and if it weren't for the tracks she'd left and the distant cluster of buildings in the shadow of the mountains, she wouldn't know where she was.

Thirty, thirty-five years on this fuckin' rock and she _still_ , somehow, she was still surprised when shit like this happened. She'd been in slaving towns. She'd seen her friends get killed in front of her, she'd been stabbed in the back and the front and all over and still, people did this to each other.

The weeks of work were paying off. The initial summons for the Expositor took her up to a town where the servants were too quiet and kept too close in the houses for the travelling teachers not to notice. She'd made short work of the town council there, sending them off on a cart to take the long way around to prison, through the nearby towns as a message to anyone else dumb enough to try it.

Most of the slaves were just locals unlucky enough to be tried in a kangaroo court and sentenced to servitude, but some weren't from around the place. They didn't say much, but they talked about the north. Skeevy travellers, bleak boats listing in the bays, masts sticking out of the fog like lone trees. The ones from the town said they'd been judged too weak to make the sea journey, so they were left to the traffickers' sponsors as gifts.

So she went north. She'd sent a message up ahead of her, to Yasha, but the woman must have been on stormy business somewhere too far off to hear. The search went slowly, but in disguise a lone traveller was hard prey to resist. They came to her. A pair of kind-seeming women who thought she might not notice the drugs they slipped into her beer. A gaggle of sailor-types. All sorts, probably locals who wanted in on the cash. And this guy, mid-size with glasses and a moral compass whose needle pointed south.

There was something going on here, though the question was, why'd it taken so long to get to her?

And if things were as bad as all this, who did she have? Expositors had to root this stuff out at the source, and while she could wipe the floor with these idiots on the road, she wasn't built to take down armies.

Breathing hard, Beau felt the land under her slope downwards just a bit, sending her gliding down towards Tra, the closest thing to a town they had up here.

She needed more time, but if this operation was as big as it seemed, she didn't have much.

…

"Ah, sit down, sit down! Anywhere's fine, I'm not picky." Jester waved at the room with what she hoped was a comforting absent-mindedness. "Do you want tea? It's chamomile, very good for sleeping."

"Um…"

"It is no problem, I was just offering since, you know, it's rude if I have some and you don't."

Jester let the girl get comfortable as she poured herself a cup from the earthenware pot she kept over the hearth. The poor thing was still shaking—she should really see about getting her some more clothes, and some nice ones, just a little something to keep everyone cheerful.

"Oh. Yeah, that's—I think I'm fine for now."

"You are, I promise. If anyone wants to come in here, let them try!" She held a fist out in front of her. "They'll see what we're made of, right?"

The girl, Maura, she'd said her name was, nodded mutely. She did look a little bit confused, sitting stiffly on one of the cushions that covered the room, but that was quite all right. Confused was better than afraid, and a little bit better than angry. Jester found that if she couldn't cheer someone up with her manner, she could at least make herself less threatening.

"So, Yessica says you want to have a little chat? I don't have very much time for reading, these days, but there are always some books I can remember that we can talk about, if you want! _Vows of Honour_ and _Silent Passion_ are very good if you like forbidden love, eh?"

"I'm—what?"

"Romances, you know?" She asked, pushing Maura further off-balance and out of the conversational rut. "Bodice-ripping? I have some sailor ones, some knight ones, some monks sneaking around breaking vows of celibacy…I _think_ I still have a few military ones, but those are a bit, you know…" She waved a hand, well aware that this wasn't what Maura wanted to address. "Not realistic."

She shifted position, crossing her legs under her and taking a sip from the steaming mug that had just come down to the right temperature.

"No, thank you." Maura coughed awkwardly. "I wanted to thank you."

"There is no need," Jester said firmly.

"No, I really—you don't know what it was like."

"I do. You may be surprised. But it was not a favour, to get you out of there. It was what we had to do. It is our duty. You are born free, you will die free, we should all be free, and to have that, that is not a gift, and it is not from me. Your freedom is your right."

Seeing the girl on the edge of tears, looking so much like…like Caleb had, once, she could not help it.

"Can I give you a hug? You look like you need a hug."

To her relief, Maura nodded. It was the work of a moment for her to lean forward and bundle her up awkwardly. "You're safe now, okay? You are safe, and I will _keep_ you safe."

She felt Maura nod, and pulled away, giving her a pat on the shoulder.

"I am glad you know that."

"How did you even find us?" asked Maura out of the blue. It seemed the hug had shaken loose the words inside of her. "It's been days, we couldn't even talk, they—"

"You were a traveller, were you not?"

"Yeah."

Jester put a hand to the symbol around her neck.

"And you wanted to be free."

"Yes. Yeah."

"You wanted a friend."

Finally, a couple of tears started sliding down Maura's broad face.

"What does that have to do with it?"

"Ah, well, I am a traveller too! We are all here followers of the Traveller. He's very good, very kind, a very good friend. He hears things sometimes, which he tells to me so I can go and do good, spread chaos, you know, all of that."

"You're a Paladin?"

"I am a Cleric, but you are forgiven, there are not a lot of other Clerics that do this, I know. We are a bunch of sissies."

That, at least, got a little laugh. "You kicked down the door."

"Oh, I did more than that," she proclaimed, "I made those men eat their own teeth."

Maura wiped at her face, grinning.

"They deserve it."

"Ya. Ya, they do. Now, will you be spending the rest of this night here? We are all travellers, so you all are welcome to come with us, but if any of you have a home to go back to, one of us will go with you, for safety, yes?"

"I think I'll stay around. There was another thing—are we the first slaves you've found?"

The girl had finally relaxed into the cushions, but there was something bright deep down in her eyes that told Jester she was processing more than just her trauma right now.

"No," she said simply. "You are not the first."

"They were talking about it. A bit. I don't—I don't think they knew we were awake, or maybe they didn't think we'd ever get out, but they were talking about getting paid for it."

"You're saying you know something about this?"

"I don't know. From the way they were talking, someone's paying. Someone's asking for slaves. They were worried someone else was doing it near here, and that they were missing out on _business._ "

Seeing the venom that she was spitting out, Jester decided that ignorance may not be bliss.

"There are a lot of evil people in this world."

"I know."

"I know you do, I know. We—I and Yessica, and Huwen, and all of our group—we answer the prayers we can. In this year, more and more we have seen this kind of thing. Prithim, you know, the girl who—" She made a gesture recalling Prithi's favoured move of ripping out people's eyes. "You know, she came to us seven months ago. After that, more and more of us were in the same place as you."

"Then you're fighting them."

"Well, yes, but it is not that simple. The Traveller does tell me where people need help, like you and your friends, but I have seen too much these days to conquer on my own. We are not an army. We are not even a 'we.' I have chosen to spread the freedom, and all of the rest of us have stayed for revenge, or to help. "

"So what, then? Do the Crownsguard know? Is there anyone doing anything?"

"I don't know. I spread the message where I can, to be careful, but I don't know how many hear it."

Maura just nodded.

"If you stay here, I promise, you will be helping people."

"I think I have to."

Jester understood.

"Then get some sleep. We will be here another day, until your friends make this decision, but we do not stop long. We must find freedom, and create chaos. And get some pastries, because we are running low and none of us can do real baking on a travelling stove."

"I can."

"No! Really? Even choux paste?"

"Sure, if I can find some clay mud for insulation."

"It's settled, then!" Jester bounced up from her seat, offering a hand down to Maura to help her up. "You should really get some sleep, but if you can't, I have a few novels that miiight help pass the time. Not all of them romance. It helps if you read them out loud."

"I think I'll try sleeping, first. But thank you."

"You are welcome. See, that is something you could thank me for. Goodnight. Oh! Did Yessica show you the sleeping arrangements?"

"She just said it's anywhere there's free space in the next tent over."

"That it is."

Maura was still clearly hesitant, so Jester slid forward, guiding her out of the small anteroom and into the next, larger tent with a hand on her back.

"So, I just need to do a few little things to tidy up, and then I will be seeing you all bright and early! The Traveller will keep you safe. He is a very good friend, that way."

"Good night, Lady Cleric."

"Just Jester is fine."

Jester gave her one last pat on the back, sticking to her the small sign she had palmed out from her sleeve that read "kick me," and pushed her gently through the flap of cloth that separated their tents. Yessie and the kids would take good care of her, she was sure.

The smile fell from her face.

These days, the Traveller was feeling not so good. One of the downfalls of being a new god, maybe, was that he had not really had the burden of prayers before in the same way. It had been some months since she first felt the tug, asking for help but giving no answers and leading her to a group of brigands disguised as prison guards, heading north with a box on wheels. That was where she found Yessica, and of course she could not just turn her loose, not after that, so they had travelled together. But, one small group, that was not a way to run a business. Weeks later they found Ien and a few of his friends who chose to make their own way back. All were travellers that had been ambushed, which must be hurting the Traveller, and hurting the people. It reminded her of the things she had seen with the Nein, and of course the evil would not stop if the wars stopped, but…was it too much to ask for people just to be kind?

Anyway, now her work had turned from what she had set out to do, in the wake of Fjord—no, she couldn't blame him for that. It was her own fault. Her work had turned to fighting again, before she realized it. From town to town northward she had started climbing, following the prayers, and it had led her to more of these slaves. All alone, and far from home, and not going to be missed for another two weeks, or however long it took to send their letters back.

She had been truthful in what she told Maura. She wasn't an army, no matter how hard she hit or how much she took, and with this merry band of strays she could not risk anything more than these small missions. Her hope lay in the Crownsguard, or maybe the Xhorhasian Patrol, but for all the letters she had sent she had not seen anything on the signposts or broadsheets in towns that would warn people of the dangers. That, she had to do herself, with her paints and brushes.

Maybe, maybe the Nein could help her—but then, what did they do? Yasha followed her own god, and surely up north, the Stormlord would hear these prayers as much as the Traveller. Fjord probably had already seen this, answering the prayers of the Wildmother's followers. Nott and Yeza had a child, one that they had already lost, and how could she rip that away from them? And Beau…

Beau did more than all of them. She hadn't rested since they had split up, and she would not, Jester knew. Something drove her, a light in her eyes that had drawn all of them in and now kept her going long after the rest of them had settled down or found peace with themselves and their gods. Beau shone through the lands of the Empire like a beacon, she knew, because in towns people whispered the word 'Expositor' and glanced around them when they did it.

They had found peace with themselves, but not so much with each other.

That left Caleb and Caduceus, but Caduceus would be working with or through Fjord already.

Jester bit down hard on her lip, then went over to the large, pocketed satchel in the corner of this small tent, and took out a stick of charcoal and some heavy parchment.

This was no time for pride.

…

_Dear Caleb,_

_I am writing to you as your friend and as a traveller in need of aid. If you do not think of me as one, think of me of the other, but know that I am both._

_I know we have not spoken lately, but I need to ask for your help. A few months after I saw you, I started travelling in the north of the Empire. You know, since they didn't allow anyone to worship the Traveller until now. I thought if anywhere needed me, it would be here._

_Seven months ago, I ran into some slavers. They weren't good at it, so it was easy to kick them. What I did not know was they were the first of a big bunch. In the months since then, I have found more and more groups. I found more of them in the north, so I don't know where they might be taking them or selling. They might be dealing with some Empire higher-ups who don't like these new laws, but I don't think so. There are too many. I mean, how many slaves can you even use? They're taking small ones and large ones, mostly young, some old. They don't take very many at a time. If it's all for one thing, then it can't be mines, or they would be smaller._

_I try to do what I can. The ones they take are mostly travellers, so even if they don't know about the Traveller, he hears them when they pray, and he sends me to help. Some of the ones they take go home, but some of them want to stay with me. I always like company, and the Traveller needs followers, so we are not a fighting force. I can go jump into battle, but I can't afford to bring it back on us._

_What I know is that there are slavers in the north of the Empire mostly, but also all round; they are taking travellers; they are operating separately and working for commission, meaning that someone up there is paying them and maybe not organizing them, but knows what is all going on; and there are more and more of them._

_I have already asked the Crownsguard for help, but they say they cannot do much since the slavers all seem to be working alone, and they don't say who they are really working for. I do not know what you're doing right now, but if you can help me fight these guys, or find out what they're doing, I need anything you can do._

_If Fjord or Beau or any of those guys can come, they're welcome too, but the last time I saw them, they had their own work. Don't ask Nott, she deserves some peace. I have also written to Caduceus._

_I have had lots of time to think about the last time I saw you. I'm not going to talk about that now, because I don't want to do it the easy way or the quick way. What I need to tell you now is that I know you were trying to help me, but you also hurt me, too. I knew more than you thought I did. I'm not stupid. I was making my choice. I am always grateful for your advice, not your instruction._

_I am your friend,_

_Jester_

…

_Dear Caduceus,_

_I know you always talk to Fjord a lot, and there is a lot more to write than I should probably be Sending you, so here is a letter! I sent it with a quickling so it should be there very fast. There are slavers in the north of the Empire that I have been fighting, not as bad as those Iron Shepherds that you fought when you came after us but still pretty bad. I don't think they are organized, since they are all very different and in different places and they go after easy targets, not strong ones like me or Fjord or Yasha. I know you are probably helping Fjord right now, so that is fine if you're not able to come and help me, but do you have any information on this? They work on the sea and they take people north first, and then south._

_I hope you and your garden are all doing very well! I would be back there, but I have a lot of work to do, which is part of why I am asking for help. You deserve to have your time with your family, and all of that. Tell them that I miss them too._

_Have lots of fun,_

_Jester_

_P.S. Please don't talk to Fjord about me contacting you, unless it's an emergency or something. I feel like it will be rude and very awkward if I talk to him in Sending or letters before we can talk things out, you know? Thank you._

…

"What brings you to Zoon, traveller?"

A sleazy-looking woman welcomed Caleb into the small wooden hut between the two layers of the city gate. She held a hand out for his papers, not looking particularly hurried.

"Ah, just taking a little tour of the Coast."

He passed over a small leather satchel, containing his university papers.

"Oh? You here for a while, or just passing through? We've got plenty of maps, if you want a place to eat or visit." The hut was small enough for the woman to reach across and tap a map stapled to the opposite wall. "Or drink, or…you know."

It was a testament to his newfound ease that Caleb only coughed a little at the leer she gave him.

"I'm afraid I will be passing through in a few days. Though, if you know anywhere I might find piecework?"

Seemingly disappointed, the woman shrugged, handing his papers back.

"If you're any good at bookkeeping, a few of the merchants and businesses are looking at their numbers before the solstice comes."

Caleb tried what he thought would turn on his charm, slouching a little and leaning forward against the counter. Even now, with the Nein prepared to vouch for it, he still didn't quite know how he managed to make it work. At the very least, this woman seemed bored enough to take a fancy to him.

"I was thinking something a little more…relevant."

"Honestly, there ain't too much use for fire magics here. You could maybe see if there's any use for you in a smithy, but this time o' year, most are sorting stock and shipping it out. You'll get better money if you do books than cargo. If that's what you want, try the cloth warehouse or the docks, or swing by Hans Alley for day labour."

Well, that hadn't worked, but it was polite of her not to comment on his narrow frame. He nodded his thanks, then fished a silver out of his pocket for her trouble, which quickly vanished into her apron.

"I see. Thank you. And, uh, you wouldn't happen to have a post office, in this city?"

"Sure. There's a counter in the Town Hall that handles personal correspondence. Deliveries and business letters go to depots either this side or dockside. You expecting somethin'?"

The woman sat back down on her wooden stool, leaning sideways against the slats that made up the outside wall. As if he weren't there, she drew a pipe from her apron pocket with one hand and a pack of matches with the other. She lit up with a practiced motion.

"I plan to visit a friend, if I can. He's on the road to Ulicadram, I believe, though I haven't heard from him of late. I think he might have sent his letters here for me."

"Fair warning, there's been some raids up and down the coast. Don't think they've hit any mail carts, but if he sent it with a trader, fifty-fifty it's burned or going north instead."

Caleb leaned slightly to the side, letting a stream of pipe smoke drift by his head.

"Is that so? I had heard there was some more pirate going-on than usual, but nothing quite so bad."

"Hey, it's the cost of doing business. We make more money, they want a piece. Say, you free one of these nights you're staying here?"

"Ah, pardon me?"

Of course, he'd heard her, but it was still something to be asking him out after a very wet week on the road. He was sure his hair had tangled itself into a solid mass, to say nothing of the coat he used as blanket and sometimes towel. She didn't seem to be too set on it, though, since she just blew out a smoke ring for him to dodge.

"I asked if you was free. This job's boring as hell."

"I'm afraid I won't be much of an amusement. If I'm not working, I will be writing."

That got him a shrug, and a wave of the hand. Smoke was starting to hover beneath the low ceiling of the hut, blurring the posters on the wall.

"To your friend?"

She was just conversational after a long day, but somehow that hadn't been the question Caleb expected. In fact, she wasn't so conversational. Despite her calm, her eyes were sharp with the cunning this job must require, despite the louche appearance.

"Well, yes."

"Then I won't distract you."

Pushing off from the wall, he gave her a short bow.

"I thank you for the courtesy. Will your shift be over soon?"

"Eh, got a couple of hours left."

"Then may they pass quickly."

"Thanks. I hope you find your friend."

_…_

_Dear Fjord,_

_Thank you for the name. Aspen. It sounds like it may have come from a Zemnian word, though I don't remember learning it when I was younger. Then again, there are a lot of things I have forgotten._

_Don't—_

…

Caleb buried his right hand in his hair, staring at the paper. Some days, the word flowed too easily from the pencil to the page, but now, he did not know. _Don't worry_ , is what he would have written, _don't worry, it is not so painful to remember those days anymore,_ but it shouldn't be right. Why would Fjord worry? Why would he not? It was too familiar a thing to put into a formal letter, but still less personal than other things he had put down.

Far less personal than what he would write, were the choice free and the letter unread.

He shuffled again, moving the parchment closer to the small lantern on the rough-cut wooden table. This was the furthest corner from the crowded bar, dimly-lit and covered in the slop and debris of the high season. To stop the parchment from soaking, he had even had to prop it up on his satchel, and now he hunched over it, willing the words that swam before his eyes to make sense.

…

_I have cleared the forest, and this night just reached Port Zoon. I hope I will be able to leave within two weeks, or within a week, if I am able to find work tomorrow. From here, I will be walking along the coast to Przut. I hope to—_

…

No, that was wrong. Somewhere across the low-ceilinged room, a man burst into laughter that sawed across his nerves. These words had been bubbling up inside him for months, driving him forward off the road and across the mountains, threatening to overflow each time he wrote that name, drawing out the swooping strokes like he'd been taught, and now they dried up. The things he needed to say were things he needed to _say_ , speak aloud and give life to.

…

_I have learned in my classes that pines and evergreens burn easily. That must be why they grow with aspens, or else the fire would consume it all. From the lowlands, the forest looks not natural. The aspens are so slim and the pines are little more than fronds on a trunk, and so the forest looks like it was painted on in strokes._

_I am clear of the forest. Just this night I reached Port Zoon. I am thankful the post can be collected at all hours of the night, or I would not have found your letter until tomorrow._

_You did not say where you are travelling next, so I will keep walking west and north along the coast, through Przut and then Yultia, Ulicadram, and Janas until I reach Damali. If I find you, there will be no need for this letter._

_May your fires warm you and never burn,_

_Yours,_

_Caleb_

…

All this damn waiting was taking too damn long.

A few more crooks in hand, and Beau set off on the road. Alone. Her trousers were turned inside out and dirtied to look grey, her belts were stuffed inside her bag. The locals 'round here wore sheepskin jackets, so she'd made sure to get herself a long-ish leather coat in Coast style off of a merchant's cart on the main north road. Since then, she'd been walking.

And by Ioun, if it wasn't boring. It'd been three days on the road, on foot, keeping her breathing going to ward off the chill. Normally, it was good to travel with a reputation, but now she hoped no one was on the lookout for a lone woman. There was no blue left on the outside to give her away. Hell, she'd even ditched the earrings and borrowed a a grotty old pillowcase for a headscarf. The thing stunk to high heaven.

She'd taken to singing to pass the time. Not that she could carry a tune in a basket, but out on this open road there wasn't anybody to criticize, and if there was, well, that's what would bring this long march to a short end. The progenitors—not her parents, they still hadn't earned that—had tried to tutor her in music once, trying to at least raise a neat piece of furniture if they couldn't have an heir, and that failed. At the Cobalt Soul there was choir practice, same thing. All she did was pick a word and swing for the fences.

Right now, her path took her along the rolling plain, over short grass and groundcover, a couple of tangled woody shrubs. There weren't many trees this far up. A few miles ahead, she could see the road wind around between two rocky faces jutting out from where the ground swelled. Not much cover, sure, but she was counting on anyone coming along to think it wasn't needed.

— _but I'm a broken man on Damali's pier_

_the last o'th'Empire's priiiiiiiiivateers._

_The_ —

Damn, what was the line? _The_ something-or-other _sloop_ …Buffalo? Manticore? She was sure it was some kind of creature, but it was ages since she'd learned the song from Fjord in a Rexxentrum dive bar. He said he was sure that was how one of 'em was going to end up, so why not teach them all?

She decided that _Ball Eater_ had the right number of syllables, maybe not the right emphasis, but the same number of syllables, and ploughed onward.

It was slow going, but when she stopped for a lunch of hardtack, berries, and jerky in the shelter of the hillside, she could see a light cart coming from a distance. The scum were were catching on.

…

"Here's your clipboard," the foreman said stiffly, pressing it into Caleb's hands, "Here's your pen. Anything goes in or out of the warehouse, you mark down the name of the porter, name of the buyer or the seller, name of the product, value in Damali and Dwendalian silver. And if there's anything from Icehaven, you come straight to me. Understand?"

Caleb nodded awkwardly, looking around the packed warehouse and counting the number of catastrophes that could happen here. Crates were stacked precariously from the dirt floor, muddy for the most part and pocket with footprints, right up to the ceiling of canvas over rafters. A small army of porters, mostly halfling or gnomish, raced around the grounds with carts and baskets, fetching and carrying for the customers lined up at the door. Out the large, open back door, stevedores wheeled massive loads of cargo to and from the docks, spraying mud up the sides of the buildings, the porters, Caleb's boots, anything. It was a brisk day in Port Zoon, the sky grey overhead and the wind wet.

"Yes, I believe so."

"Good. You'll eat here. No breaks unless you've got to piss, and then you call me in to keep watch. Shift ends two hours past sunset, or when I say so. Whichever's later. You'll be paid on a day basis, and mark my words, you miss a number, you'll be paid for naught. Look lively, now."

The skinny, officious man gave him a glare before diving back into the fray, which thankfully absolved him of the need to smile. He was an unpleasant little human.

It didn't take long for Caleb's work to begin. The first arrival was what seemed a shipment of textiles from Tal'Dorei, marked for special care and wrapped in a layer of oilskin. As directed, he marked down the buyer, the seller, and the shipment contents and price before sending it over to the buyers' side of the warehouse for inspection. That was followed by barrelfuls of fish from the docks, then casks of port wine from the land side, each marked with its own year and price. Each new arrival seemed to have worse breath than the last, and each stared at Caleb's fingers as he wrote as if he were the one handing over the money.

Thankfully, he was a flexible man. Soon he found there was a pattern to the shipments, a regular schedule that kept the aisles of the warehouse from becoming too clogged with one good or another. Textiles, food, drink, crafts, some pallets of rare wood, some cases that claimed to be firecrackers. He kept a careful eye on those ones, but otherwise, there wasn't much time to rest. If he hadn't spend the past few weeks on his feet, he was sure he would have burned a cantrip or two to dull the pain or simply bribed a porter to bring him some drink.

About midmorning, he found himself thinking on how brown this place was. The mud, certainly, was an unappetizing lighter colour, of sandy soil with a certain amount of horse dung mixed in, while the wood of the warehouse was a sick yellow-grey, pine that had not aged well. Oh, the merchants had clothes of all colours, but in the mud and the dim light it all blended into one.

"Shipment?" he asked automatically, spotting a pale pinkish tiefling in sailor's garb making her way towards him.

"Bone dice, arcane providence."

"Place of origin?"

"Icehaven."

"Price?"

"One hundred and ninety silvers a unit."

Her words belatedly caught up with his brain.

"My apologies, you say you come from Icehaven?"

He looked up from the clipboard splashed and spotted with poor-quality ink, trying to read her face, though the pale green eyes were blank of anything but annoyance.

"Yeah. What of it?"

"You should be going to the foreman, now, where is he…?" Caleb glanced around the room, though he couldn't see a thing in the crush. The man had to be around here somewhere. "Pardon me, I can't seem to find him. There should be an old man here, human, skinny. He's who you want to see."

The tiefling took the news with unexpected good grace. Some of the traders here had threatened to gut him over a moment's writing, but then again, perhaps the foreman had been expecting this one shipment in particular. Whatever the reason, the sailor left him to go about his business.

"Got it."

He hesitated, pushing against the instinct to call out Frumpkin to follow, but another sailor was in his face already, this one a halfling waving his attention over.

"Shipment of dry salt, south Xhorhas."

"Price?"

"Three hundred Dwendalian silvers the cask."

"And Damali silver?"

…

"Miss Jester?"

"Yes?"

"You're sure we're heading in the right direction?"

"Yes!" Jester slowed her pace a bit to fall in beside the girl who had made her way to the front of the pack. "Or, I am definitely sure this is where the Traveller wants us to go, and he never lets me down. What is it, Yessie?"

The heavy elf beside her shrugged. "It's just, this…"

"This is getting far from towns, yes?"

"Yeah."

Their path had taken them up into the sparser, marshy lowlands bracketed by the Empire's two rivers. Really, she couldn't blame Yessie for worrying a bit. There hadn't been a good turnover or tart to be had since they passed Berleben, just these odd, hard cakes flavoured with almond and cardamom.

"Well, we are travelling, and to travel, we must go into the unknown. Are you still feeling safe?"

"More than anywhere else," Yessie said simply.

"I am glad. We should all worry a little bit, but trust me, too much of it is not a good thing. And the rest of the group, they do as well?"

"'S far as I've heard. Miss, we're all here because we want to do something."

Jester turned those words over in her head, looking out towards the mountains on the distant horizon. They munched at the sky and licked up the swirls of cloud, littering crumbs here and there, the glint of light off of a river or lake far off. To _do_ something, yes, that was the heart of this, but there was a doubt that gnawed at her own heart. If she made one mistake, and one of them got hurt…

"I know, Yess. I promise, I would not ever put you in a danger you did not know about."

"It's not that. I just…do you have a plan?"

"I do. I will follow where the my heart leads me, and along the way I will try to do good."

"You've already done good. Do you know, maybe, where they are?"

It would not be half so frustrating to answer these questions if she did not have them herself. As always, she had faith in the Traveller. It was just that a little warning would be nice, right? Knowing where they were going, what they were doing, you know, just so that she could prepare herself and the baker's dozen that followed along behind her. He was so much less talkative now that he was really a god.

"I don't, no. Maybe the Traveller is taking me there. Maybe not. If I knew, I would not be much of a Cleric, right? I've just got to keep going."

"All right," said Yessica, not looking all right, but looking mostly right, at least, or a little bit right.

"Who knows? I mean, he may be taking us somewhere safe. We do not always have to fight."

Jester skipped in her step a little, hiking her rucksack up on her back and bracing it with her arms. The march was not yet over for the day, and a fish hook still tugged at her heart, reeling her northward.

"I think, for this, we do." Yessica's voice, for once firm and clear since she had broken her out of a small wooden box, brought a smile unbidden to Jester's face.

"You believe in that."

It wasn't a question.

"I do."

"Good. We must all believe in something."

…

"Let me go! Let me go, please, I'll give you money, I swear, whatever you want, just let me go!"

It took everything in Beau not to catch her balance as she was pushed off, bound at the hands and across the chest, from the slave-finder's horse. Looking back on it, she was lucky she kept her gagged for most of the journey. It'd have been hard to come up with more pleas for mercy or escape.

"Shut the hell up!" snapped the slave-finder, a thin woman in decent garb for this area. "Or I'll gag you again."

Beau snapped her mouth shut, hoping the movement of muscle over her jaw came off as fearful more than angry. The slave-finder pushed her forward on the pebbled beach, toward the waterfront where a few crew stood perimeter on the shore in front of a small, one-masted ship at anchor in the bay. Trapped between the crew and the ship was a motley group, mostly young or middle-aged, tied at the wrists by a long rope to a central post driven deep in the sand. There was a fire at least, but they were all packed in beneath a tarp to stay warm on the shore of the sea. Poor bastards.

As she stumbled and her—the woman hadn't really earned the title of "captor," but technically, that's what she was—walked up forward, one of the sailors guarding the spot came up to meet them.

"Young, female, strong, but can't fight worth a damn," the slave-finder called. Beau kept a lid on her smile. "Worth a few hundred gold at least."

"Yeah, right," mocked the sailor. "That's what you said about the last one, and he got seasick just looking at us."

He gave Beau the up and down, and gods if she wasn't going to break cover if he touched her.

He didn't. Instead, he nodded to the slave-finder. "I'll get Helga. Tie 'er up by the post."

Barely waiting for him to finish, the slave-finder tugged Beau forward, over to the post.

"No!" She cried in as high a voice he could muster. "Please, I promise, my father will pay handsomely if you return me home safe! He's really very—"

"Shut _up._ "

It gave her plenty of time to scope out the sailors standing watch. A few cutlasses, one with a longbow strapped across his back, but mostly bladed weapons. Some of the knives there could be used for throwing. One had what looked to be a pistol strapped at her waist—that could be a problem, if she even got the chance to aim it. She'd need a human shield, or she'd have to get her first.

While she was being marched over to the stake and tied, the sailor they'd talked to had hopped on the rope tethering the boat to shore and run across it. The guy must have had some training similar to hers or some such, or some kind of magical artefact. Worth keeping an eye on, that one.

Once the tying-up was done, the slave-finder gave her a push for good measure and walked back over to one of the guards for a chat or some such. Bastard. Beau wasted no time in scurrying over to the mass of captives already gathered there.

Well, "mass" may have been generous. There were a solid dozen of them.

"What's all this then?" she murmured, sliding in next to a tiefling who looked younger than her by a few years. "Ransom?"

"I don't think so," the tiefling said in reply, barely moving his mouth. The guy caught on quickly. "I think they're taking us for slaves."

"That's rough."

"You could say that."

It was awkward, moving with the bonds on, but Beau managed to get her hands down to her boots. The slave-finder had been smart enough to search her, but not enough to really check. She huddled closer to the tiefling.

"Switch places with me, will you?"

He shot her a look, but obediently shuffled forward, letting her move into the pack. Great. Now, just to break the stitches that kept the sole to the leather body of the boot. They should be pretty weak, just—yeah, just there. Beau slipped her fingers into the narrow gap, feeling for the small blade she kept there. She'd wait until Helga showed up to get it out, but for now it was good to have on hand.

"What are you doing?" her new neighbour, a human of about 40, hissed at her.

"Chill out, I've got a plan. You don't have any magic, do you?"

"Do you think I'd be here if I did?"

"Fair enough."

She shoved her hands as best she could under her legs to keep warm, and waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the comments, feedback and support! I'm glad this story is a few minutes' fun even for people who aren't me :D


	4. 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't really figure out what fantasy regions correspond to what real regions, so the upper Menagerie Coast is now an approximation of fantasy Dalmatia

"Hold!"

Sighting a shadow on the horizon, Jester flung an arm out behind her. Tensions had run higher and higher as they cleared the forests and moved towards the mountains, though never boiling over into anger. Maura, Yessie, and the rest only seemed to fear that there might be nothing left for them to find once they reached whatever destination they were pushed toward.

Jester knew from her mother that ships rarely came this close to these jagged shores, a nook in the mountains of Cyrios where merchant ships passed by and whose depths fishers didn't bother to plumb. They had been picking their way along the shore since early morning, coming down out of the sheer mountains with the help of a few ropes and spilling on to the beach, and there hadn't been a single little thing in sight except the shorebirds.

So why was there a vessel listing on the waters ahead?

"Miss Jester?"

"Jes?"

A thin murmur ran through the dozen or so of the Traveller's little crew.

"There's something up ahead," Jester said lightly, hopping down from Prithi's shoulders. "I'm going to check it out, so you all stay here, will you? If they're fishers, I don't want to freak them out by showing up with a whole squadron of fighters."

"I can come with," Henrik, a little human fellow near the back of their pack, volunteered. He had accompanied her before when they needed some sneaking around, but he had not so much strength as her. It wasn't worth the risk in open territory.

"I should be fine! I feel like this may be what the Traveller has been leading us to, but I just want to be sure, you know? Don't worry. If I see anything sketchy, I'll call you guys, I promise."

Seeing the fish-eyed looks on their faces, she waved them towards the place where the mountains met the pebbled shore.

"You can all hide in there, if you want. I mean, you don't have to, but it's more interesting than just sitting on the beach, yes? Have some lunch, or whatever."

There was a vague nod from the group assembled before her. Puvo, an elf around her mother's age, stepped forward. "There are plenty of birds around. I'll see if I can find eggs."

"We've got plenty of cookies left, too," Maura said dryly.

"That's settled then!" Jester clapped her hands together, then shooed them all back towards the mountains. "I'll send you a message when I find out what it is, yes?"

This got her a slightly firmer nod, so without much else to do, she set off forward down the beach, and she listened to the faint noises of the group shuffling back behind the cover of the rocks.

Her leather boots muffled the sound of her feet on the pebbles, which she helped by hopping between the larger ones rather than crunching the smaller ones together underfoot. The only thing that might give her away in this thick a mist was the scattering of the shorebirds before her. There wasn't anything she could do that would stop them, and so she didn't try.

The mist really was thick here, because the ship came up right under her nose after only a few minutes of walking. It wasn't anything like she remembered of the tall ships from Nicodranas, or even their pirate sloops. This one was squat and heavy in the water with just one mast, with not a bit of noise coming down from the deck. If she squinted a little, she could just make out people moving like ants, scuttling around the edges of the boat. Now, if she just moved a little bit faster, she could maybe be right up on the shore in front of them, but she would also be in sight of them. Not good, if they were mean and if they had arrows, but she felt no warning from the Traveller, only the same aching pull in her heart.

This was important.

Whispering the spell and moving her hands smoothly, nothing that would stand out or shift the fog, she invoked duplicity in herself and sent her double prancing out in front, near enough not to be hidden by the fog. As for herself, she ran quickly up and shore and as quietly as she was able, then planted herself behind a mid-sized rock and watched her twin.

…

"Beau?"

"Yeah?"

Uri, the pale tiefling she'd first sidled up to, had been assigned lookout duty. The boy had been pretty good when she took on the slavers, casting a few spells around her without even needing a yell.

Actually, he might even have saved her a little. The fight was tough, one against five and then against the three remaining on the boat, even for her. First up, she didn't have her bo staff, and second up, the sailors could've threatened one of the slaves to get her to back off. It was a mercy she'd been able to take them out in time, and that Uri had hasted her and frozen Helga in place for interrogation.

They weren't left in a great spot once Beau had tossed the last corpse in the drink, but they did have a boat and more than enough rations for the lot of them. The slave-finder's horse carried the one local they'd nabbed, a girl named Yoilai, to the nearest village to get help. Once the horse and cart arrived to take the captives back home, a few had asked to stay with her and seek revenge. Uri had a knack for sorcery, Olina was handy with a sword and shield, and Bharim had a close enough connection to a god to heal them all up. Together, the four of them managed to drag the boat out and sail away from that lonely bay, tracing back along the route they had found mapped out in the main cabin.

This stop hadn't been in the plans—well, that wasn't true. There wasn't a plan here to stray from. What had happened was that they saw another shadow on the horizon a few days into their chase, and with a round of voting, they decided they weren't up for a fight. So they pulled in here, where Olina said no ships came in for trade. Sure enough, this inlet was abandoned apart from the birds. Little ones on stilt legs ran up and down the beach, while gulls picked over the waves and geese flew by on their way south.

The rations were more than enough for their trip on the slavers' path—around Stonecage Cape and down to north Menagerie—so they spent their days here shoring up the ship's few defenses. Olina, who long ago grew up in a fishing town north of Icehaven, said this ship was mean to sail through ice. That meant they were pretty well insulated against a certain amount of cannon fire. The ranged defenses were weak, though. There were five longbows stacked up with a few bolts in the main cabin, a bunch of iron shackles, and a few pistols, but their little crew couldn't aim so well. They needed to prepare for flight, which meant some kind of long-range defense and a better sense of how this boat worked. Really, Olina was the one who could sail. It had been a while since Beau had been a real First Mate. Otherwise, she was just here for muscle, and the other two for magic.

And revenge, revenge was a good one.

That's what had her sitting on the edge of the ship, measuring the few bits of gunpowder they had into some of the jars of drink they'd poured out and dried when Uri came up to her.

"There's someone on the shore."

In a flash, Beau was crouched below the ship's deck, pulling Uri down with her.

"Hey—!" he hissed, but they didn't have time for that.

"Shut up. Who was it?"

Uri rolled his eyes, but stayed below the edge of the ship, kneeling beside her. Good kid. He was learning fast.

"How should I know?" he grumbled. "Some lady. Blue. Pretty small horns, waving at us."

Beau's heart skipped a beat, something it hadn't done in a long while.

"Blue?"

"Yeah, we come in different colours, same as you."

"Blue."

"That's what I said." To his credit, the kid was starting to look concerned. "You good?"

"No, I—I mean, yes—I mean—"

As fast as she'd gone down, Beau now shot up and leapt towards the bow of the ship, eating up the few feet of deck with long strides. Sure enough, when she reared up on what passed for a bowsprit, she saw her.

It'd been near two years now, but the stocky figure waving from the shoreline was the same. The waves lapping up on the rocks went clean through the woman's boots, but that gave Beau more faith than ever that she—that Jes—that she—

The tiefling standing in front of her had frozen in place, her waving hand dropping down to her side.

It took Beau three tries to force the word from her throat.

"Jester!"

And with that, the tiefling disappeared, and another came running up from the roots of the mountains, shouting and waving, tripping here and there over a stone but plunging forward like the blue ocean.

"Beau! Beauregard! I'm here!"

"I know! Just—just give me a second, here…"

Beau hopped back into the ship, her smile threatening to split her open, and ran back enough to get a good start.

"Beau?" Uri asked as she ran by. "You know her?"

"You could say that," she breathed, and started sprinting for the bow. With the speed she gathered and a powerful jump up, she went sailing forward almost enough to reach the shore, stretching out as far as she was able.

She hit the water with barely a splash.

Bending her knees, she took the landing in stride, ankles tight as she sought purchase on the smooth rocks that paved the cove bottom. On the shore, Jester stood on the tips of her toes, eyes wide, her arms held down by her sides but almost shivering with energy, poised to strike.

But she didn't move, and neither did Beau.

"Jes…" Was all she could say.

 _Why are you alone? What happened to Fjord? Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you write? Why are you here? Why, after all this time, do I still_ feel _like this?_

"Why—" she started, then reconsidered. "Are you crying?"

"No!"

A few tears had escaped Beau, but she was prepared to say they were salt spray instead. Jester's were more important.

"Yes, you are."

"All right, maybe!" Jester said shrilly. "But you're doing it too."

Beau held her hands open at her sides, helpless. "You got me, Jes."

And with that, Jester threw herself forward, trusting so fully in Beau to catch her before her boots touched the water that it almost hurt when Beau found herself doing just that. The weight threw her, but her years of training kept her on both feet as she bundled Jester up, pressing her face into the crook of her neck as they stood in shallow water.

"I found you," Jessie murmured in that voice that always made her weak. "I get it, now! I was supposed to find you."

"Now, what's that mean?" asked Beau. "You weren't looking for me, were you?"

"No," answered Jester. Blunt as ever, Beau supposed, but then she went on. "I just felt something, and I kept following—I didn't know if it was a prayer, or if it was the Traveller, but there was something that was pulling on my _heart_ , Beau."

Beau put a hand to the back of Jessie's head, threading her fingers through her scruffy hair.

"Don't say that, Jes…and where's Fjord, anyway?"

"He's not here with me." Jester's voice was oddly quiet. "You are."

"I think I understand," whispered Beau. She closed her eyes.

And waited.

Cold water soaked through her boots. A weak breeze, kicked up by the movement of waves below, chilled her back where Jester's arms couldn't cover her. What the world whittled down to was the feeling of Jester's chest moving in and out against her own. Gulls cried in vain, drowned out by the sound of breath.

"Beau?"

"Mm?"

"I think I will need you to carry me back to shore."

"You want to come aboard the boat? We've got snacks."

"Oh, I will, but I have some friends I need to tell first."

Beau jumped a little, hoisting Jester up by the thighs so they could talk face-to-face. "Anyone I know?"

And—would you believe it—Jester smiled at her, eyes crinkling above her cheeks. She tugged at Beau's tunic, leaning towards shore, and who was Beau to resist? Taking care to keep her balance, she walked up and on to the shore.

"No, but I think they will be happy to meet you. What about you? I see a little tiefling up there, trying not to look at us. Have you replaced me, Beau?"

"Nah, he's a sorcerer-in-training, not a battle cleric," she said casually. "Besides, he's a guy. What about your friends? Don't tell me you're running around with another monk."

They hopped up the last few steps, Beau lifting Jester off of her to set her down and Jester letting her.

"No, no," insisted Jester. "We are all sorts of people, but I haven't seen any others of the Cobalt Soul."

Beau planted a foot down on a rock and gave her best imitation of a curtsey, spreading an arm wide to gesture at the boat. "Well, then, you should invite 'em over. We've got plenty of room!"

"Oh, I will—you have to introduce me to your friends, too, you know. I will be back in two minutes! Wait for me."

Jester held her in place with a pointed finger, backing up down the beach a few steps before she turned and sprinted back with the strength that so surprising about her.

 _Wait for me_. Hah. Beau had waited this long. Two minutes was nothing

…

Caleb's leather boots made little noise on the wet blanket of leaves beneath the canopy, and the figure that followed him was quieter still. Unaware, he trekked through the forest, cutting from the inland road out towards the sea.

The night was drawing closer to him, the sun bedding down early in the twilight of the year. He had planned to clear the forest by the day's end. He still could, if he had the magic to spare for a light show, but with Fjord's letters and the warning of the gatekeeper in Zoon, he decided to keep walking until the evening light was gone and then bed down in the cover of the trees.

As dark as it was so early, the night was also cold. It had not yet rained, but this near to the sea the air was heavy with salt and mist that cut through Caleb's coat and gloves if he stayed still too long. To stay moving would not only get him closer to his path, it would keep him warm, and wear him out so thoroughly that he would have little trouble sleeping. 

This was quite fine by the one behind him, who was short on cash and not strong enough to take on the average merchant's cart.

The long hours of quiet since he had last passed someone on the inland road left Caleb not so much thinking as feeling. In his weeks of solitude, he had thought plenty, wondered, worried, but it all seemed to have stayed the same since he turned off of the south road. He hadn't spoken that words quite failed him. He could not describe what he felt, per se, or why he made his choices. There was no longer the need to. He knew why he walked here, and he was at the kind of peace one finds when nothing can be done. He would follow this road until he found Fjord, and then he would stop, and then he would speak. What happened after that, he did not know.

So with a churning in his chest he forged on. The forest was thin enough to make the passage easy, just trees used to the harsh and sandy soil and a few crawlers so loosely planted that you could pull them out by their roots in one motion. Unlike the shrubs and flowers of his homeland, these were green the year around, though their stems and leaves were more woody and less lush. Each had a name he did not know, except the pine and aspen trees.

A bitter cry from some bird or other snapped him out of his head for just a moment; he looked up to see the trunks of the trees move further and further apart, letting in some of the light from out over the ocean. The sun had nearly set, and the sky was turning grey.

In that moment, perhaps sensing that their prey would be out in the open soon, his hunter aimed a crossbow at his back and fired.

They would not have expected the thin and gangly-looking traveller that he was to flinch at the noise, duck down into his coat and lace his fingers behind his neck, covering any vulnerable parts. The iron-tipped bolt hit him square in the back, but glanced off with a spray of sparks against his mage's armour. Before the hunter had time to react, Caleb had spun around, wild-eyed, and levelled a blast of flame where they stood. That was followed up with a blinding burst of light, and then more flame, sucking all the moisture that had soaked into the forest and tapering off just when the edges of the trees started to singe.

When Caleb, panting, threw his dancing lights into the air, all he could catch was the far-off back of a retreating figure ducking from tree to tree in the darkness. Blast. Someone like that could spread the word, get up a search party after him, but he was too tired after the long day's walk to pursue them. If he were lucky, the unlucky bandit might—

"So I guess you didn't need my help, after all."

Under the pale light of his spell, Caleb felt himself turn white.

He turned around and sent another orb forward, illuminating the man who had stepped out of the forest unseen and unnoticed.

He was broad. His shoulders were covered by layers of leather armour which made them seem broader than they were, laid over top of a woolen shirt. What he wore was piecemeal, some garments of the same wool and leather make as those and some of canvas, some of cotton; some were pieces of metal armour so tarnished that they did not shine or even glint. A loop of red cord was hooked to his side, just visible behind the flap of the open, sleeveless coat he wore. Last Caleb had seen this man, the same cord had been tied around his waist. His beard was longer, too, dark grey streaked with white and coarsened by the elements.

Whatever small changes Caleb noted in his dress, the man was the _same_.

"Fjord."

"Caleb," Fjord said lightly.

It took another minute for Caleb's breathing to slow, evening out after the brief confrontation. Fjord was as healthy as last he'd seen him, cheeks clean of any flush and at present sheathing the long blade of his sword on his back, where a mid-sized pack was strapped on with two strips of cloth. In the bright glare of the light, his catlike eyes were wide and yellow, the pupils worn down to a slit.

From the look of him, he was long in these woods. Three small cuts bit into his cheeks. His hair, long, now, and braided, was matted and laced through with pine needles and with scraps of bark. If Caleb argued with himself, he might agree that he saw a ripple of muscle across Fjord's face as the man tamped down on whatever he was feeling. After all, it was what Caleb had himself done.

"Sorry for not making myself known sooner."

Caleb was so unstuck in time that the voice seemed to come from far off, form the plains of Felderwin or, perhaps, a memory.

"I, uh, felt something calling me here," Fjord continued. "Thought it best to wait and find out what I was meant to do."

"It's nothing," said Caleb. Anything more stuck in his throat.

"Tell you what," Fjord started stiffly. "Uh. I've got a campsite set up on the shore down from here. It's sheltered. You want to come with?"

"Yes, that sounds like it will do."

"Good."

…

Fjord led him along the cliffs for a quarter-hour. Overhead, the sky grew darker until it was all but night, though a faint glow above the sea told them the sun had not yet sunk below the world. At Fjord's suggestion, Caleb had dropped the dancing lights and instead followed close behind to keep from tripping. Now and then Fjord glanced back at him, asking how well he was seeing, or warning him about a change in the ground level or a rock to watch out for. Simple things. Not once did he ask why he had come, which suited Caleb. He must have known. More than anyone else, he felt Fjord could understand him.

He felt. He knew nothing at all.

Caleb drew his coat around him tighter, only for Fjord to turn around again, walking backwards for a step as he looked him over.

"You good?" he asked. "Most people don't realize it gets cold on the coast, in the winter."

"I suppose they only come here in good times," Caleb answered honestly.

"Yeah, I guess so. I have a spare scarf, if you need."

"You should save it for yourself, since I think I will be fine. Nott made me pack more than I had planned to bring."

"She's looking out for you. Be thankful."

It was so nostalgic, Caleb had to laugh. "I am, believe me. Do you know, she was reading all your letters?"

"Didn't I say so?"

There was the ghost of a laugh from Fjord as well, though Caleb could not quite make it out amid the rustle of fabric and clink of armour as he buttoned his coat shut.

"You did. She never said she read mine, though."

"Makes sense. You can't do any wrong, it's me she's got to watch out for."

"Ah, but you're wrong there. She trusts you to take care of me."

The quiet that followed his teasing remark was like a bucket of cold water. He had time to stumble over a tussock of long grass, breathing sharply and noting Fjord's quick glance backward.

"Does she, now," Fjord said at length. His time as a paladin had made him strong; where Caleb's words were edged with breath, his were clear.

"Well, it was that or tell her I would be on my own," Caleb backtracked. "I think she had her reasons. You are looking well."

"You too."

Unsure of what to do, he watched Fjord lengthen his strides and carry them along to where the clifftops dipped, the ground crumpling and folding like fabric as it tilted down towards the sea.

At the edge of the first fault line, Fjord stopped, and they stood side-by-side looking out over it.

"How's your vision doing?" Fjord asked.

"Not great, I'm afraid. I take it the lights are still not an option?"

"'Fraid so. Here—" Fjord tapped his arm and held his right hand out between them. Little light remained of the day, but Caleb was sure that he could see a pale line drawn across the palm. "Shouldn't be too far from here, but I don't think Nott would like it if you went into the drink."

"Nor do I." Caleb fit his hand in place. "Well, lead on."

Like they had years ago, they clambered hand-in-hand down the small hill and over the uneven ground to the edge of the cliffs. Too soon for Caleb's liking, Fjord took back his hand and stepped away. Here, the acidic soil had been worn away by years of waves and had finally weakened, falling into the sea bits at a time. Caleb flexed his fingers around empty space.

"Give me a moment," Fjord murmured, talking to himself, or so it seemed to Caleb. He stood beside him. They could barely see each other in this darkness. Rather, he could not see Fjord, and Fjord looked away from him.

And now Fjord crouched down on the cliff and, grabbing a handful of the heathery grass, slipped down over it before Caleb had realized what he was doing. He stepped out carefully, looking down where his friend had gone, straining to pick up anything beyond the cliff's edge. All that was there now was the faint grey caps of the waves.

"Fjord?"

"There's a ledge just out of sight," a voice called up from below. "Jump down where I did. I'll catch you if you need."

Caleb followed the instructions, crouching down and grabbing at the heather, rooted shallowly in the sandy soil. He slid one foot down first, trying to find a grip that might slow his descent, then followed with the other. The low roar of waves below reminded him keenly of their time on the seas, chasing down answers and a way to deal with Uk'otoa. Needless to say, it was no comfort to know the vastness of the sea.

"I've got you," Fjord called up softly.

He let go.

Sure enough, one foot landed on soft earth he had not spotted and a hand reached out, grabbing him by his satchel and pulling him forward and safe on to a grassy ledge, below which the cliffside had slipped down towards the sea. Back from the ledge, there was a deep crevice in the cliff, with a flat bottom broad enough to fit Fjord's bedroll. The ledge reached out ten feet or so from the crevice, and near to the cliff a small circle of blackened grass showed a spot where a fire had been the two nights past, maybe three.

Fjord let go of him the moment he found his balance and turned his back to him, setting his pack on the ground.

"I was just out getting some firewood when I ran into you, actually. Like I said, the nights get cold."

"I…see. How long have you been here?"

"Couple of days. Found some trouble, or it found me, so I asked the Wildmother for help. She sent me here."

"She told you of this place?"

Caleb walked forward, peering into the sandy crevice that seemed to be Fjord's bedchamber.

"Not as such." Fjord unpacked his pine branches, stacking them up over the charred circle. "I tripped over a root around here, and something in me just said to fall."

"You had faith."

"Could say that."

He watched, still standing, as Fjord took out a tinderbox and, not even glancing at him, jammed a spark off of the flint. It failed to catch. No wonder. It was so damp.

"Let me."

Though he spoke softly, Fjord whipped his head around to stare at him, before relaxing.

"Silly me. I forgot we had a wizard with us."

"It has been a long time," Caleb answered, not sure what he meant by that, but certain that he meant it. With a small flick of his fingers, a light sparked in the centre of the fire Fjord had built and flickered, holding longer than it should have until the wet wood began to burn.

"Yeah. It has been."

They arranged their things in silence, Fjord taking out his rations and Caleb unshouldering his pack, then casting a small spell over himself to dry off and renew the protective charm on his coat. After a minute or so, all seemed to be in order. Caleb huddled in close to the fire, holding his ungloved hands out over it to warm them, and Fjord leaned back against the cliff, his sword's hilt laid against his shoulder and its tip resting on the ground. He chewed what seemed to be some cured meat, then swallowed, and took a sip from his waterskin.

"Why are you here, Caleb?"

Caleb tore his gaze away from the flames and found Fjord staring at him, eyes the same pale yellow as the fire's heart.

He couldn't answer.

"You didn't just come down here because you felt like a vacation."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't talk to me for a year, then out of the blue, you write me a letter."

There was no clear meaning in Fjord's face, and indeed, he barely seemed to be seeing him. His eyes were only for the fire.

"You are my friend, Fjord. Is that not enough?"

He realized now that his pulse had not calmed since the attack in the woods. This was a fight, if a slower one, carried out word for word across a ring laid with wood. A duel without witnesses, audience, or referee.

"It is. But I just thought, you've got other people."

"I do. That's the reason."

"Oh?"

"I tripped myself some time ago," Caleb found himself saying. "It was silly, really. Nott was out, so I was going to fetch some things from town and…I tripped. I grabbed for one of the bushes near me to try and stay upright."

"Doesn't sound too monumental."

"Oh, it wasn't, I assure you. The bush was a blackberry, so all I really did was make an ass of myself. I got mud on my coat, and I cut my hand. Not badly. Just barely enough to bleed."

Fjord didn't need to say anything, or even move, for him to know he understood.

"As you pointed out, it had been a long while since we last spoke. You would be right to be angry with me, so I waited." Caleb took a deep and shaky break before pressing on. "I have always been waiting for the right time to say things and for things to be easier. I waited to tell you about my story. My parents. I waited to ask _you_ your story. But for this, things, I think, get harder. I have waited so long I have run out of time."

A lick of flame wove its way outside the circle and up his boot. He caught it in his hand, letting the flames twine around his fingers for a moment, then simply pushed it back into the fire, which was so bright now that everything else had gone to black. He could be alone here, for all he saw or heard was fire.

"If I did not find you now," he went on, talking to himself. "I might not ever, and that…I would regret until I died."

He was loath to look up and to let his eyes adjust, showing him who had been there listening, but it was this fear that he had come here to stamp out.

"I am here because I need to be. But I suppose that does not make much sense, so for now, I am here to apologise for what happened last time."

Tearing his himself from the fire, he finally met Fjord's eyes, and saw a face he knew. Confusion.

"You think you owe _me_ an apology? _"_

"Yes."

He waited for Fjord to answer.

"Why?"

"There are many reasons. But—" His voice slipped dangerously out of his control. "If it is all the same to you, could we wait until the morning? It has been a long day for both of us, I think. If nothing else, I would like to be here with you. Just for the night."

Across the fire, Fjord shifted, laying his sword down on the grass behind him. The fire sputtered and cracked.

"I—I'd like that, too."

…

Caleb dreamed. He had often on this journey. His bare feet pounded on the sand of a long beach that curved ahead of him, disappearing around the western point. Around that point, there was something he had to do. What it was, he didn't remember, but now the ocean lapped around his feet, swallowing his footprints as they were laid down.

As in most dreams, his sense of this place was vague. Something…important had happened, he was sure, and it had something to do with his chase in this grey world. The light was dull, grey and cool. His ankles hurt from the impact of the sand. His feet were freezing cold, chilled through by the ocean, and as he ran he realized that most of his body ached, from his ankles up to his back and shoulders.

"Hey, Mr. Caleb."

Calianna waved from where she was running in front of him. He knew that she had been ahead of him this whole time. He remembered feeling jealous of her speed, and the ease with which she ran and more than that the fact that she always seemed to be out of reach.

"Calianna—" he gasped. It had been some time since she visited, so it would be rude not to greet her, but he just didn't have the breath he needed. Even in the time it took him to speak, she had gained a few metres on him. Her voice still sounded like it came from in his ear.

"I really don't mean to be rude, but you should probably pick up the pace, all right?"

"I can't," he coughed. Calianna was now a speck in the distance, and the end of the beach was further than ever from him.

"Mr. Caleb, where are you going?"

Caleb couldn't stop running, but he did manage to wrench his head to the side, looking behind him to see Calianna standing there. Wait—she shouldn't—

Pausing on one heel, he turned himself around fully. Behind Cali, he saw the promontory he had been chasing. Only its shadow was visible in the thick fog, but he knew it was the same one he had faced a moment ago. How had he gotten turned around? Fog or not, he was hemmed in by the cliffs on one side and the sea on the other, he couldn't—he wouldn't have missed it.

"Well, don't take too long, okay?"

It was Jester now, talking to him. Whatever the reason, he couldn't see her face.

"I'm trying," he snapped. "I was almost there."

"What?" she asked, walking past him. "No, you weren't."

"I was." He followed her, stumbling over a rock that was stuck in the sand. A sharp pain laced through his ankle. "I've been running this whole time."

As he said it, he realized his feet weren't moving. Waves lapped around his ankles, pushing layer upon layer of sand around them and holding him in place. The fog had grown so thick he'd lost sight of Calianna, Jester, the cliffs, even the ocean; only the push and pull of waves reminded him of which way he was going. He had to get around the far point. Someone was waiting for him. He must be late already. He had to—

A gust of wind whipped sea spray into his face.

…

"Caleb?"

"Wha—"

Caleb's body tried to jump up, forgetting that it was stuffed into a low cave in the side of some sandstone cliffs. His elbow grazed the side of the cave, warning him before he had a chance to hit his head on the ceiling. He blinked a few times, realizing that there was a spattering of water on his face, and scrubbed at his eyes. After a few moments, the grey-green blur he saw sharpened into a concerned face against the backdrop of an angry sky.

"You all right?" Fjord asked. "Sorry to wake you, I figured we wouldn't want to get stuck out in the rain. I've got another shelter in the woods. We can set up there for breakfast."

Now that Caleb had come back to himself, he realized that the spray on his face was rainwater blown in from outside. Fjord's bedroll was no longer beside him but sitting near the mouth of the crevice, glistening with raindrops.

"Oh, yes, uh, that sounds good," he murmured. There was something nagging at him, like he'd been about to say something. If only he could remember…

"Good. Uh, if you just want to get packed up…"

Fjord gestured awkwardly at his things, strewn about some distance off from where he lay, and ducked out of the cave. As far as it was possible in the confined space of the shelter, he seemed to have moved about while he was sleeping. He felt a new wave of embarrassment, since either Fjord had risen some hours earlier or he had tried to smother the poor man in his sleep.

"Yes, my apologies."

More carefully this time, he rose to his knees and hunched over, wrapping up his few belongings in his bedroll. Along this journey, the uncertainty of shelter meant that he had worn his cloak and woolen garments several days through, which likely made him a poor guest but made him able to get ready quickly. When he stepped out of the cave, he swung his pack on to his back and had no need to stay longer.

It took him back to their days of travelling together. The circle of ash on the small shelf in front of the cave had been spread about, the tamped-down grass kicked up to make it less obvious that two people had made camp here. Fjord still left his pack be for the moment to save his shoulders—Caleb allowed himself a small smile, noting that his days of fighting had made him stronger, but that he still wasn't one to waste energy—and leaned back against the cliffs, watching the sea with a pensive expression. Raindrops, small for now but sure to grow larger, slid off his oilskin hood and caught in his eyelashes.

It didn't seem right to ruin the sight with words. Caleb turned to face the sea as well, standing beside him. There was something naggingly familiar about the fog that cut off the horizon, and the shadow of clouds behind it.

"You ready?" asked Fjord.

"Mm."

"Won't be long before we get there. Here, I'll give you a leg up."

Leaving his pack on the ground, Fjord nodded up to the clifftop that reached out just over them some ten or twelve feet above.

"I would be grateful," said Caleb evenly, "Though I am sorry to take away your morning's entertainment."

That got a small snort out of Fjord, who clapped him on the shoulder before putting his hands out in front of him in a loose stirrup.

"Up you get. If you grab the heather up top, it should support your weight."

"I'm sure. And you have your own way up?"

"Sure." Fjord grinned. "Don't live out in the wilderness this long without learning to climb. You'd be surprised what kind of things a man can see from up in a tree."

"You'll have to tell me."

As Caleb went to get up, he caught sight of the faint scar across Fjord's right palm. He was quite proud that he only hesitated for a moment before planting his boot squarely in Fjord's hands and hopping up, digging the other boot into a small divot in the sandy rock of the cliff face. He kept his hands free.

"All right," he muttered. "I think I have some purchase."

"Okay. On three?"

"Three, two, one—"

Fjord heaved upwards with a strength that almost caught him off guard, but he was still able to react in time, pushing up with the other foot and grabbing at the roots of the grass on top of the cliffs. He managed to catch a small nook with his other boot, which was enough to get him up and on to flat ground with a small amount of undignified scrabbling. Goodness. It was a good thing Fjord had already seen him in every possible embarrassing situation, otherwise he might be feeling a little red around the ears.

"You sure you don't want any help?" he called down, sure that Fjord would get the teasing for what it was.

"I'm sure," a low voice replied. "Wouldn't want you to strain anything."

Caleb shoved his hands into his pockets, laughing silently. Sure enough, he had to look away when Fjord climbed up over the edge with far more grace than he ever had and walked to his side, still looking out with eyes that could see something beyond Caleb's reach.

"Where to, Paladin?"

"An hour's walk west," Fjord said, then stopped himself. "That okay for you?"

"Sorry?"

"Well, I mean, you didn't look like you were having that good of a sleep," Fjord said awkwardly. "And my rations aren't the best. I know you haven't always been as good with this as I am."

That…was not something he expected Fjord to think of, but it was not unexpected, somehow.

"I'll be fine," he said, patting Fjord on the arm. "You are right, I am not good with this, but I have been travelling long enough this year that I think I will not be throwing up this journey."

"Glad to hear it," Fjord answered, echoing words spoken so many years earlier.

They set out, Caleb making sure to match the long and easy stride his companion took over the moor. As they had both foreseen, the fog grew thicker around them and the rain became heavy, though it did not stop their conversation.

"So, what was it like getting here?" Fjord asked casually. "I kept up with your letters, but it seems you took a rather unusual route."

"That would be accurate, I think. I took the main roads west from Felderwin and then south from Zadash, but since I split off from there I have been using more farmers' paths. There is not much to add to the letters, in terms of events, but I shall think about it."

"Hey, no need to. I was just making conversation."

"I know."

Caleb let himself drift a moment, searching through the thoughts and feelings that he had let grow and thicken over the past few months.

"It has been cold, but not harsh. I suppose it reminds me of my first home, a bit, so it is not so bad. Though I do not like to sleep on the ground so much when it is cold. What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Go on, I'm listening."

"Well, I saw a great many people on the road, but none were more interesting than the people we already know. I read a few books, nothing too high in quality, and I ended up spending a lot of time watching the things around me, because either I was walking and did not have my hands free to read or because I had read too long in a cart and was about to be sick. That is why I asked you about the trees."

"Sure enough. You know, I'm more tuned to the beings of the shoreline and the sea, but it's good to hear you're connecting to the wild more. I find it helps me."

"You're right, I know. You have your seashore, Caduceus has his gardens, Yasha has her flowers, Nott has her pastures, and I suppose I love forests better."

"They suit you."

"Hm?"

Fjord shrugged. Caleb was almost surprised he could not see ripples in the fog where they pushed through it.

"Forests. Don't know much about them, but they're…they knowing things. They keep records of seasons, years past, more than the grasslands or the ocean. The trees know how old they are. They remember."

Fjord was like the sea, Caleb thought, in that same way. The sea was vast and it held secrets no earthbound thing could hope to know, but it gave life and joy even as much as it doled out death. The sea ferried along merchants and navies, gave up food and flood alike, charmed the cunning and scared the wise. You could spend a full life staring at the ocean and wondering what it might be saying.

He didn't say any of that. He said, "I think I have read that somewhere."

They walked along another fourteen minutes in silence, which was all right by Caleb, as he needed to breathe to keep the pace.

"Listen—" Fjord said, sparing him a quick glance that was unreadable. "You said you couldn't find any work, along the way?"

"Nothing that would give me what I wanted, no."

Whether he guessed Caleb's meaning—a likely thing—or no, Fjord did not interrogate that answer.

"Where are you headed, then?"

"I don't know. I thought it take me longer to find you."

"Very well."

The fog was thick as ever and the rain pelting down, but underfoot twigs snapped and ahead the faint grey light darkened. The forest was almost upon them.

"And you?"

"Pardon?"

"You had plans for travel, but I do not think you were able to complete them."

Fjord shook his head.

"No. I wasn't."

"And now?"

"I don't know."

"It felt as if you had no shortage of work."

"I don't. If anything, the raids are bigger than anything I've dealt with since the Nein. But there's only so much I can do alone. I'm not as reckless as I was. I don't want to die."

The plainness of those words chilled Caleb.

"I do not want that, either."

"I've asked for help from the Crownsguard, the Coast governments, and the guilds. There's no reason for most of them to intervene. The sea isn't anyone's territory, and the lands up here are mostly full of fishermen and farmers."

"Would a wizard be of use?"

Fjord slowed for a moment, taken aback.

"I—could you?"

"I have been looking for work, and you have some. I know I'm not very good in a fight these days, but I still have my old skills and my emergency chapter in my spellbook. I could help you, but only if you need me."

"I do. But it is dangerous, Caleb, I—I don't want to have to answer to Nott if you end up sent home with a broken leg, or if you're tapped out, or—"

"I do not want to die, either. I want to help you."

Fjord shook his head, silent for longer than Caleb wanted to hear but with less chill than he might understand.

"I can't say it hasn't been lonely."

"Me too."

"Really?" Fjord was not convinced, nor was he open to argument. "Why stay away, then?"

"I left to clear my head." Caleb sped up, skipping a bit one foot to the other pull level with Fjord and then to overtake him. "Being alone has reminded me what I need and what I don't."

"Oh." As if mirroring Caleb's actions, Fjord's pace slackened. They always moved like that, one moving closer and the other backing away, and so Caleb turned and faced him with a hand raised. The heather here was wet and his boots well-worn; a stiff breeze at the wrong moment might have moved him.

"If I would be a hindrance," he said, "I will understand completely. But I am asking you to let me go with you. I am looking for work, and you say you have more than you need."

To his credit, Fjord stopped just long enough to meet Caleb's eyes. He seemed—it must be this low light. The pupils of his eyes had blown wide to make them almost black.

"I—I'll have to think about it."

Caleb let him go with that, shoving his hand back into his pocket and walking into the forest. Though the cover was more sparse than the tall forests he had left by Felderwin, he still felt a sense of ease.

"Ah, well, thank you. We should be close to your shelter, yes?"

"Uh, less then half an hour, I'd say. Can't give you exact numbers, of course."

He glanced over his shoulder just to see Fjord's smirk.

"Of course."


	5. 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your comments! I don't know how the rest of this is going to play out, but I hope there's something in it for you. Again, please feel free to point out inconsistencies, or ambiguities, or typos

"Should be somewhere around here," Fjord muttered, glancing around the woods. He might have heard an understanding hum from his companion, but this not-quite-storm was too noisy for him to tell.

Caleb's sense of time was keen as ever, apparently, which was going to make this embarrassing if he couldn't find his way back to the little lean-to. It had been his bedroom on and off, and it was now serving as a kind of shed. Melora had been kind enough to show him to a late apple tree the other day, one with more left on it than he could carry around all at once, and he had really been looking forward to the leftovers. Wild eating didn't get much better than an apple. Sliced up and layered with sausage and cheese, roasted with dried fruit and some honey, or even just dried out over a particularly long stretch of walking…it was a damned versatile fruit. He was getting off topic. It had been some time since he'd had food from a good kitchen.

He took a breath, closed his eyes, then opened them again. He stamped his foot lightly against the ground. He bit his lip.

"Got it," he said. "Sorry about the wait."

Caleb sent him a curious look as he turned left and stepped over a tangled patch of roots, tracking into the forest from the deer path by a few metres. And—yep, right there where he'd left it, the wood-and-canvas structure he'd made with a piece of stolen sailcloth. He had found a dead sapling somewhere near this spot and uprooted it, stripped the trunk and leaned it in the join between the trunk of a pine tree and a thick branch, then laid some sturdier fallen branches and a few he'd cut along between the ground and the trunk of the sapling. From there, he tied on the sailcloth to block the worst of the rain, and weighted it all down with stones.

He'd made these sorts of shelters time and again. If he'd been fixing to stay here for more than a week, he might have gone about it differently—dug out a hole beneath to use as a cellar, then laid a wooden grate over top so he could still fit beneath there for a night. The whole thing could be waterproofed with a bit of resin boiled with whatever fat he could find, though that might make it worse for fires. Be that as it may, the crooked, damp thing in front of them would have to do.

"'S where I've been keeping any spare food," he explained to Caleb as he stopped beside him. "The Wildmother was kind enough to show me my campsite, but I didn't want to be too conspicuous, lugging things back there."

"Ah. A red herring?"

"I suppose you could say that."

Fjord stepped over the last bit of brush and crouched down, fishing out a—you guessed it—sailcloth sack of apples, a waterskin, a wineskin, a piece of old honeycomb, a few wrapped leather packages of hardtack and seaweed, two of dried meat and fish, several bundles of herbs that hadn't really had the chance to dry, and an old chunk of cheese that would probably make even him sick, let alone Caleb. He had the inventory memorized to keep track of intruders. The second-rate firewood that was gathered there, he left under the shelter and started arranging into a small stack. Here's hoping the sailcloth was wet enough not to burn.

He tried not to think of the eyes on the back of his head. Experience told him that Caleb being weird about things was, in fact, a lot better than Caleb acting normal.

"I meant to ask—"

Fjord tried not to jump. Did the man have some kind of spell on him, a divination charm or what have you that told him what Fjord had on his mind? His knack for interrupting any thought of him was downright uncanny.

"—how did you find your way back here? To this shelter, that is."

"Oh, I, uh, I remembered, I suppose."

"Fjord," said Caleb fondly—and it _was_ fond, which threw Fjord off all the more, "The fog and the rain are so thick here that I could not see your camp from the other side of the clearing."

Damn. He supposed it was too much to hope for him not to notice that, but in truth, it wasn't something he'd thought of as unusual. Not for a while, at least.

"Yeah, you're right. I don't really know how. I just get this sense. Like you and the time."

"Pardon me, but could it be the Wildmother?"

Fjord shrugged. He'd found a small clump of dry pine needles beneath the leather packets which would do for kindling. Bad kindling.

"I can't say it's not, but I don't think it's her gift directly. Feels different."

"I see."

Fjord found himself short on breath, almost swallowing his own words. Which was nonsense, because Caleb clearly didn't hold a grudge, whatever he'd said to Jes or whatever she'd told him, and because anything else that might complicate what there was between them had been a lost cause years ago. "Say, d'you think you could light us up again?"

He stood and backed away from the bones of the fire. There was no response from beside him.

"Cay?"

"Ah, yes, sorry," stammered Caleb. "Will it be all right beneath the shelter?"

"I figure it's wet enough that it can't burn so easy."

"Yes, but if we keep the fire under the shelter, we won't be able to sit under it ourselves."

"My cloak should keep the worst of the rain off of me, and you too if you sit close. The fire's more important. If you don't warm up—"

Caleb caught his eye and nodded calmly, crouching down next to the stacked wood and needles.

"Let's try this for now, then."

Even years later, Fjord couldn't keep himself from staring. Not even staring, it was just that he couldn't choose _not_ to watch as Caleb moved his hands, painting symbols in the air, as Jes had put it, or plucking stems they couldn't see, as Cad might say. To Fjord it didn't look like anything but what it was, the ebb and flow of nature's forces. The air around them moved, the sea swayed, waves crashed on the shore and far-off campfires breathed life into the sky. Trees pumped water from the sandy soil and swelling tides of mud tumbled down from distant mountains, and through all that Caleb's fingers moved and _became_ fire, lapping up the sides of the thing Fjord had built that was not anything but a fire, but could not be called a fire until Caleb lit it. It took some time to catch, and through it all Fjord could only watch.

"I think that may do it," Caleb said lightly, crossing his legs by the fire's edge and sitting right down. "Now, I believe it it time for some breakfast, ja?"

"—yeah." Fjord reeled himself back in. "Uh, feel free to take what you need, but your supplies are probably better than mine."

"I wouldn't be so sure. I think I ran out of energy for cooking just after Zadash, so what I have is travelbread and nuts. Oh, and dried fruits as well."

"That's not bad. There are apples in the sack—they're not rotten, but they're at least a little fermented—then seaweed, hardtack, dried meat, dried fish. Well, I'm not sure if it's so dry anymore…"

With a start, he realized he should probably sit down so Caleb didn't have to crane his neck up at him. As he did, he held out the trailing edge of his cloak for Caleb to grab, in case he wanted to pull it over. They were damp as it was.

"What do you say to roasted apples and raisins?"

"I'd say I'd need a clean stick," Fjord said absentmindedly.

"You already speak softly, so why shouldn't you carry around a large stick?"

His brain took a moment to catch up to the conversation, and a moment longer to parse what had to be a joke, from the smile that shot his way. "Pardon?"

Caleb looked sheepish. "It was a joke. You know, they say to speak softly and carry a large stick…ah, I didn't sleep very well last night."

"It's fine, I haven't spent too much time in a place to joke, lately."

"Don't try to spare my feelings, it was not very funny. What I mean to say is, you're forgetting that I can touch fire."

"So, what, you're going to hold an apple over it until it's cooked?"

It really had been a long time since they travelled together. Back in the Nein, he never bothered with flint or even good tinder. Caleb patted him on the shoulder, apparently catching his drift again.

"Well, I for one have had quite enough walking in this rain without having to look for a stick long and clean enough to hold out over the fire."

Fjord probably said something as he passed Caleb the bag of apples. He probably added a little quip when he took out his knife. Caleb, certainly, kept talking, and he wasn't one to monologue for fun. They must have conversed when Fjord hollowed out the cores of two apples for himself, then dropped in some raisins and nuts, then a small chunk of honeycomb. Caleb must have talked as prepared his own, then cast some kind of cantrip and nestled them in the fire, where their skins turned golden but never black. Fjord had to have spoken, but what he was saying, he didn't know. The _awareness_ of Caleb was a statement in and of itself, and he still needed to find the right response. It was handy to have a companion around. He'd been used to it. Just not this companion—

"…anyway, I could do with less of that. Beau has the mind for commerce, not me."

"Don't let her hear that."

Caleb shrugged, though he pressed too tight up against him for it to work. "She should be in the north of the Empire or further by now, so I do not think she will."

This was something he could _have_ , given to him, by Caleb, and of his own will. He didn't expect anything from Fjord. He couldn't. Caleb marched to his own tune. He would stay until he'd done whatever it was he wanted, and then—he'd leave. Fjord wouldn't have to feel so guilty and unsure, he wouldn't have to keep guessing and second-guessing what he was and what he was supposed to be.

It was what he could have and more than that—it was what he wanted.

"Yeah," said Fjord.

"Pardon?"

"I'd be glad to have you with me," he said. "More than glad. If you're willing."

He looked back over to Caleb when a quiet moment had passed, and found him still staring into the fire. His hand, Fjord realized, was on his shoulder.

"Cay?"

"Thank you."

Their eyes met, but unlike the staring matches of old there was no fight, just a feeling of balance.

"Don't. I need the help."

Caleb cast about with a hand, reaching across to his own where it rested on his thigh.

"Then let me thank you for being my friend," he said.

"Fine by me," answered Fjord. "Whatever you're going through, I'll go with."

That seemed to settle it. Side-by-side, the two listened to the sap popping in the campfire and the patter of rain on oilskin.

When Caleb's internal clock finally went off—Fjord still couldn't tell how much of it was learned magic and how much was Caleb—the silence between them was broken like an ice skiff on a water butt.

"Our breakfast should be ready. I'll get it, unless you should want to?" Caleb pulled his hand free, waving it with an ironic smile.

"I'll let you do the honours."

Fjord laid out a small square of cloth and took a wooden spoon from somewhere in his pockets as Caleb pulled the apples from the fire. It was messy, but the meal went down quickly and the rain-soaked cloak was enough to clean their hands with. The easy part was done with. Now, for planning.

"So," started Caleb, "I am sorry if I was intruding, yesterday, but you seem to have someone on your trail."

"Yeah." Fjord sighed. "Would you mind if I went back to the beginning? The situation's more complicated than I let on."

"I guessed as much."

Caleb listened patiently as he explained how he'd stumbled across a raid in Yultia, and then even more patiently as he doubled back and explained how the Wildmother had him work. He made a dry remark or two when Fjord had to reclaim his half of the cloak to move, clearing the forest floor of mulch enough to draw a map in the damp and sandy soil with a claw, but mostly just listened, and watched Fjord's hands with an eye stickier than tree sap. He could barely get a gesture off without feeling it noted down on some piece of parchment Caleb held in his inkstained mind. The feeling wasn't unpleasant, just…there. He felt something. That was all.

"Anyhow," he finished, "It's just how it always is. You clean up one mess, you step in another."

"Mm, you may be right," said Caleb, poring over the crude outline of the Menagerie Coast. "This certainly is a mess."

"Thanks."

He caught the quick smile that flashed across Caleb's face. Not for the first time, he wished he could stow it away in a jar to pull out later, and Jester's grin and Cad's voice and Beau's strange calm that was far better than a smile from her.

"It is surprising to me that a single Paladin could not stop this kind of concerted effort on the part of several skilled groups of criminals."

Fjord just shrugged, accepting the implication without agreeing. "Like I said, I could use your help. Anything spring to mind?"

Caleb sat back on his heels, absentmindedly stroking the sparse beard he had grown. "Well, I cannot claim to understand the situation, but our problems are threefold."

"Go on."

"First, whoever this consortium is, they have some form of communication and coordination beyond what you expected. Second, they are not simply looking for gold or valuables. Third, they are chasing you."

"Third one isn't out of the ordinary."

"Maybe not, but what it means is that you are in more danger going undercover as you have done."

"I can still disguise myself."

Caleb rolled his eyes a little.

"Those disguises aren't perfect, we both know that. We are no longer able to be so reckless as we once were, you and I."

"I know. But at this point, there's not much else I can do. I told you, I'm not looking to die."

The answer he'd come to weeks ago was raring up again to get his attention, this time using Caleb as a messenger. He had turned to him with a thin half-smile, a hopeful little thing.

"Not you alone, no. But us together…we could manage something."

"The Nein," he said dully.

"Ja, that is what I thought. But you…" Caleb let the question hang in the air for him to finish.

"I thought about it. Beau and Yasha, sure, but Nott's retired."

"For this, I _know_ she would be more than willing to help."

"I know, Cay. Which is why I'm—I'm not going to ask her to give up her child for this. At least, not for the second time. Cad, he's with me, but then I don't know where Jessie is, and I can't reach her with the magic I have. She talks to me. And that's all if she's willing."

"Even if all is as you say, we are still Beauregard, and Yasha, and I think our allies—"

"If I could convince Beau to give up her post, if I could _find_ Yasha—"

Caleb lashed out, grabbing his arm before he could react. "You have me. Are we agreed on that?"

The blurred and rainy world came into focus. "Yes."

"Very well. You are in this fight, and I am with you, so what _I_ am going to do to help is contact who I can of the Nein. I have learned sending spells, so I think I should reach all of them, given a few days."

Defeated, Fjord put a hand over his eyes, wiping away the sweat and rain gathered there. He could just about laugh, you know, with the schoolteacher's expression on Caleb's face.

"You've got a sending spell?"

"Yes, but that is rather beside the point."

Now, he did laugh, covering Caleb's hand on his arm. They were both still sat between the fire and the map Fjord had carved in the wet earth, half-turned to face each other.

"Why were you writing letters? No—why didn't you try to talk to us before, if that was that easy?"

"Sending allows only twenty-five words. There was more I needed to say to you."

What was that supposed to mean? Fjord couldn't read a thing on his face any more than he could before, or at least nothing that made sense to him. Caleb had written to him about trees, strangers he met, stuff like that. Why did he have to wait weeks for that? It wasn't even words, not real words, a fraction of a finger's worth of ink was all that separated it from parchment and paper or the skin and wood that came before them. He could've just talked to him. He could have said something, by all the Mother's mercy—

 _Ah_ , he thought. _Fuck_.

"Sorry," he managed.

"There's no reason for you to be."

"No, I—I haven't been thinking straight."

Caleb apparently hadn't noticed that here was where a couple months' tension had just spoiled over. He just rolled his eyes. "It happens, when we are on our own. Trust me."

"I do."

"Well, I didn't mean it quite like that, but thank you." He paused. "I remember it wasn't very easy for you."

That turn of phrase, sardonic and sincere, was Cay through and through. It echoed through Fjord's chest as it did on cold, damp nights when the Wildmother was waning and the Nein were all he remembered of warmth.

"You didn't make it easy."

"That was not my intention."

"I know. Doesn't matter now, I guess."

"Oh, it does."

"What?"

Caleb poked him firmly in the upper arm. He probably didn't know he'd hit a pressure point. At least, Fjord would give him the benefit of the doubt.

"You more or less have done everything you could to lose my trust already, which means you've got it, now, for good. So, are you willing to listen?"

"I am. Thank you for that. I don't quite want to bring them in just yet, though."

"No, no, of course not. I will probably ask Beauregard and Yasha to keep their ears to the ground and start for our position only if they are nearby or have heard nothing, since if it goes as far north as you've heard, Beau may have found something already."

"Can you ask Cad if he's up for combat? I'd appreciate his help, but I know that's not something that's easy for him."

"Certainly. If the Wildmother has turned you on to these people, she may already have him doing work."

"I've had him do some digging myself."

"As for Jester—"

"We just need to tell her what's going on," Fjord said firmly.

"I believe she is the bravest of us all, in this matter."

"So that leaves Nott."

"I can understand why you would want her to stay where she is, but I think we should tell her."

Fjord fought down the urge to wince. Sure, yeah, he loved her like his family but gods damn, he wasn't looking forward to seeing her if she got wind of the arguments he'd had.

"We should, I just—she's going to feel like she has to help."

"That doesn't mean she would be in danger."

"Doesn't mean she won't try and get into trouble, though."

Caleb smiled at that. She was his partner; he would know.

"No. But I trust her, and so do you."

"Don't let her hear that. So, you'll summon the Mighty Nein. Then what?"

He hesitated to ask. It was what he'd been avoiding all this time, so why stop now?

"I am afraid you've gotten ahead of yourself," said Caleb. Small mercies. "The first thing is that we will go over your information again, so that I can remember it all."

"Then send out a message."

"Yes, if we do not learn anything new."

Fjord nodded, watching Caleb draw new shapes in the damp earth.

"We should probably hold the fort down here while the others get ready."

"I agree. The Empire would shelter us, but I fear that if we wait too long—"

"—they'll get a foothold. Then, it's probably best if we focus on defending towns."

"Yeah. If we just hold them off here until we get one or two more, then we can start, you know—"

"Going after the higher-ups."

The words that were so hard to come by up until now were starting to flow out of him as Caleb finished his plan of attack, then erased it and drew the map again in a larger scale to show the details of the coast. They went back and forth, catching each other like the trapeze artists they had all seen when Yasha invited them to Gustav's new circus, years ago. The two of them had just been performing a routine, of course, but Fjord had found himself entranced by their fluid motions and the ease with which they flung themselves away and into each other's arms. _What kind of trust_ , he'd murmured to Jester, who had told him that it was the same the Nein shared. He'd mumbled a reply, agreeing, but not quite.

This is what that was. Different, in a way he couldn't point out.

The rain had slackened to a fine drizzle by the time they'd come up with a final plan, then gone back over and rehashed it, then taken a quarter-hour to come up with some questions for any raider they managed to take captive.

"What's the time?" Fjord asked. "Must be getting to be…"

"Twelve minutes until noon."

"I was going to say 'about noon.'"

The two of them stood up, Caleb slowly unfurling from the hunched shape he made by the fire. While he summoned Frumpkin and renewed the protective charms on his gear, Fjord set to packing up their supplies, stowing everything left here in his larger haversack. The map was scraped clean off the earth and the lean-to left up, a clear settlement site.

"You got your thread ready?"

"I'll lay it down as soon as you're out of the area."

They checked the morning's campsite once more for anything they might have left behind, and Caleb laid their trap. They could forage for supplies in the forest and maybe catch some game or fish without straying too far, to see if anyone was still tracking Fjord. If someone did stumble into them, well, they needed all the information they could get. If not, they'd head off down the road to the next town to check in on their defenses, waiting to run into another set of raiders. Caleb would cast his rituals and Fjord would pray, and…

And it was a long fight they were in for, but they'd do what they could. Help some people and hurt others.

…

"I assume your trip did not go well?" Caleb asked dryly. With a practiced motion, he summoned a flame to run along Fjord's back, too weak to burn. His armour and tunic, both soaked through, were piled up by the fire while Caleb took care of the skin and underclothes.

"How'd you guess?"

"I know how you like the water, but I did not think you would want to swim in the winter, or under crossbow fire."

"Yeah, no," muttered Fjord, then groaned suddenly. "Damn."

"Are you all right?"

"'m fine. I'm fine. I healed myself, already. Just sore."

He hunched in again, pulling his knees closer to his chest like a child. Caleb couldn't fight the urge to smile, but he faced Fjord's back, so it was no loss.

"Here, this should help."

He spread his fingers, letting them stay there for a bit to keep the heat radiating out, then lowered his hand to Fjord's skin, between the shoulder blades, and sent out a wave of warmth radiating outward from his palm.

"Mm, thanks. I thought you hadn't learned healing."

"Oh, no, that was just heat. I have not broadened my horizons as I wanted to but…my control is very nearly perfect."

"Can you keep doing it?"

"I've got to dry you first."

Fjord shifted position, making sure not to move too quickly or knock him over. It was quite considerate of him.

"Don't bother, I'm used to being wet."

"You should know as well as I do that it's an unnecessary risk. Your physiology can only do so much to prevent hypothermia."

"Fine. Thanks."

Caleb turned up the heat a little. It would not hurt.

"It's no problem. What ended up happening?"

"Got caught where I shouldn't have been, had to throw myself overboard to avoid getting shot."

"And—"

Fjord cut him off with an edge of exhaustion. "The spell should be hidden. I set it to light around the time they pull into port."

"I was going to ask if you were hurt."

"Oh." The awkward pause was as Caleb had expected. "Well, yeah, but it's healed."

Another advantage to divine intervention. He had always held the gods at a respectful distance, but he could not deny their utility. Perhaps that logic was why he was better suited to arcane magic.

"Mm. Good. Lift your left arm, please."

The muscles in Fjord's back seized up again as he complied, so Caleb gave him another burst of heat before returning to the drying flame.

"Thanks, Cay."

"You can return the favour, someday, right?"

The question hung between the two of them, drifting up and out of the shallow not-quite-cave that was their home for these few nights. True as ever, Fjord's instincts had drawn him here, beneath an overhang in the coastal hills. There, their bedrolls lay side-by-side up against the sandy outcrop, while their fire burned out past the mouth of the cave on the green grass, overlooking the sea that stretched out and westward. Few trees had found purchase in the soil, though there were wildflowers and shrubs that dotted the hills.

"Yeah," whispered Fjord. "Sorry I didn't—by the time I heard the guy coming, I was already knee deep in it."

"I would have guessed."

"What's that mean?"

"It means that your silver tongue will get you out of everything, but only if you have the chance to talk, I think."

The reply to that was not as forthcoming as Caleb would have liked, forcing him to cough a little to fill the silence.

"Not everything," Fjord said finally.

"Enough."

That seemed to get the message across, or, at least, Fjord was not about to argue when he was without his armour.

"How'd things go on your end?"

"Well enough," he said. "I was able to decipher some of those missives you picked up."

"Anything we don't already know?"

"Just a price list."

"Mm."

"And some warnings of a devilishly handsome wizard who has taken to roaming the coast."

"Wizard? I doubt they'd recognize one. They must've seen a paladin."

"Well, you know how those people are. I hear there is not much in the way of formal education on the sea."

"Seems I'm not the only one with a sharp tongue."

Caleb didn't trust himself to respond appropriately, so he ran his hand down the arm one last time and clasped Fjord's wrist to extinguish the flame. "We are done with that, I think. Up you get."

Fjord rose quickly enough when he tugged on his wrist, though he was careful to keep his face turned away. It wasn't worth dwelling upon. Caleb lit both hands with a stronger fire and, putting his thumbs together, ran over Fjord's body once again. You couldn't be too careful in the winter.

Though Fjord clearly didn't think so.

"Hard as it is to believe. I didn't die of hypothermia when you weren't here."

That was enough for light smack. "If you'd rather spend two hours glued to the campfire, you are of course welcome to do so."

"I didn't mean it like that," said Fjord, suddenly serious.

"I know." Caleb sighed. "This probably has come across as…I don't know, some form of penance for the way I treated you. Something weird. It seems very much like my thing. But, Fjord, I mean it when I say I am following my whims here. My goals are as simple as keeping the both of us alive and not so grumpy."

"I do trust you."

Fjord's face was still hidden from him, so Caleb walked around him to warm the front of him, and also to meet his eyes.

They were sad, his eyes. Sad and wise, which was a look that went far better with his current face than with his old one. The cracks at the edges of his eyes showed more seasons than Caleb knew he had seen, while the rough streaks of grey that now littered his hair and his beard added to the effect.

"Then relax a bit, why don't you? You may have had a bit of a swim, yes, but we did what we set out to do. No sense in dwelling on it. What matters is that you are alive."

"I know, I know." Fjord's eyes slid sideways, escaping him again. "It's just hard to believe it, sometimes."

"You are preaching to the choir."

Caleb gave him a pat on the cheek, then sat back down on the damp ground to go over the legs, which would not take much time. He used both hands now, holding his flame to the soaked wool fabric and watching steam curl off.

"How're Beau and Jes doing?"

"They have nearly rounded the cape, so we are not long for our reinforcements. They are quite safe, for the time being. Beau says their speed is holding well."

He could feel some small tension run out of Fjord's body. "That's good to hear. Any more?"

"We couldn't get much across at this distance, but Beau says she's starting to look forward to a proper fight. Their crewmates have trained up admirably, but she can't go full-force against them yet, and she doesn't want to tire out Jester."

"Hah. You sure Jester's the one who'd get tired?"

"That is what I very nearly said back to her."

"I imagine Jes is having fun."

There was a wistful note in Fjord's voice which filled him with a kind of trepidation.

"She says she also misses the battlefield," he continued, "But I promised her she'd see it soon enough. She has apparently started a storytelling club among the crew, which she uses as worship of the Traveller."

"I probably shouldn't ask what kinds of stories she tells."

"Apparently, pornography is kept to a minimum."

"Glad to hear it."

"But romance is, she says, encouraged."

"Ah."

"Indeed."

"I'm going to go out on a limb," said Fjord evenly, "And guess that the one she's working on takes place in a monastery."

Oh, dear. Caleb's heart sped up a moment as he contemplated his options, settling on a small laugh for the time being. Beau _had_ talked to him about it, but she hadn't said anything specific, and really, he didn't have the right to ask…

"Cay—"

"I—"

They each stopped themselves, Caleb letting Fjord go first as he stood himself back up.

"It's no problem. I—well, I didn't know already, but I was pretty sure I wasn't Jester's first choice."

Just as it seemed Fjord might look at him again, he went to rearrange his armour by the fire, finding the spots that were still soaked and turning them toward the flame.

"That's right," Caleb said to himself. "She did ask you to marry her."

"She did."

It would not be much of a stretch to say that he imagined Fjord's response, since he never turned aside and spoke just barely loud enough for it to carry, but Caleb knew better. He had lied to himself enough to know the truth.

"Sorry, I didn't think you could hear me."

"It's okay."

"You know, you—you were her first choice, I think."

"You don't have to say that."

Fjord was still avoiding his eyes. He crouched down next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You're right. That's not what I meant. What I mean is that—is that anyone would want you. For a—a spouse, you see. I cannot claim to know who she loves best but Jester, she loved your compassion, and your generosity, and your strength, and your determination. You weren't just a convenient man."

To his surprise, and apparently to Fjord's surprise as well, since his now-there eyes were wide and his pupils narrow, Fjord looked up at him for the first time this evening.

"How would you know that?"

Caleb bit down the answer forming on his tongue. "I am your friend, and I am her friend too."

"I never doubted that."

"That's not what this is about."

"Then what is it about?"

"I—you think too little of yourself. You've gotten so much better, but—I can see how you have had to fall back into old habits. With Beauregard and Jester, I will not claim that they told me what exactly has happened between them, but what matters is that our best friends have found another form of happiness in each other, on their own journey. What matters is that you are alive. What matters is that you are here, and they are there. Not that you are somehow second best, or that you have failed, or some such. That is not what is true."

Fjord sighed heavily, then smacked himself in the forehead.

"You're right. I was wallowing, there."

"A bit, ja."

"Thanks for pointing it out. And thanks for taking care of me. You run across anything fresh for dinner?"

He took his hand hand back, judging it the time.

"Not as such," Caleb said, "But I set a few traps for rabbits. We can check them once we get your clothes back on."

"Thanks. Would you send my regards to Beau and Jester, next time?"

"I always do."

…

"Are you wallowing again?"

"Hm?"

Fjord pushed some brush out of the way, finding a small lattice of leaves and branches near the base of the shrub. A sinkhold trap, not sprung yet, from the looks of it.

"You were looking far away."

"Oh, it's nothing. No rabbits here, by the way."

"Ah, well. We have the one, at least."

Standing some distance off, Caleb hoisted a rabbit in the air. Its legs were tied and its neck had been broken, with a quick prayer to the Wildmother.

"If I'm being honest, I think it was the swim that had me going on, earlier."

Fjord let the long grasses fall back into place and stood up, taking his place again at Caleb's side. It may have been the light, coming in from the west at a long angle, but he seemed made up entirely of corners, from the toggles on his boots to his long, patched coat. Even his scarf was caught on so many pockets and straps and pouches that it formed sharp, triangular folds, giving the impression that Caleb had been sewn and glued together instead of born. On his face was the same wry smile as always, cutting through the stubble.

"Oh?"

"It's stupid, I know, but the water—it still shocks me sometimes."

"Back to when you were drowning," Caleb filled in.

"Yeah."

"I understand."

Of course he did, of all people, of course he understood. That was why it was so—so hard, sometimes, to be with Caleb. He understood Fjord. More than that, he knew him like a book, he knew him to his bones, which was as comforting as it was scary. All it took was one stray word on Fjord's part or one twitch in his jaw to tell Caleb everything, which he always used for such compassion that it made Fjord weak.

But what that meant was that there were no secrets, or at least, none for long. He'd find out eventually, and that would be that.

They would go their own ways.

That was why he nodded at Caleb as he walked past, but never stopped beside him.

"I was wondering what the Wildmother wanted from me."

Caleb nodded, joining him in stride.

"Does it trouble you?"

"No, or…not so much."

"Mm."

"It's more that I don't know what is her influence, and what's my own doing."

"How so?"

They hiked through long grass and bushes over the seaside hills, back to their camp. Fjord's sword was heavier than it should be, strapped across his back, and Caleb's footsteps were light at his side.

"Why did you come here?" he asked.

Caleb didn't answer.

"I can't say I talked much with you for a year, there." Fjord filled in the silence, hoping that Caleb hadn't gotten the hint. "But when we last met up, all of us, you seemed happy. You were happier than I'd seen you. And I've been happy myself, I really have, but I kind of envied you."

"You were right. I was happy."

"I'm glad. You deserved it. But since you wrote me, I've been wondering why you came here."

"What does that matter?"

An edge had sprung up in Caleb's voice, though Fjord couldn't say where it had come from. No—he couldn't know, but he could guess. He'd been wondering about why Caleb had come since he'd given that first flimsy explanation, and now he realized that he might not have been as happy as he seemed. Some fight with Nott, maybe? But their bond was stronger than that.

Then again, he'd thought the same about…them. The two of them. He'd thought Caleb was his friend.

He set a hand on Caleb's shoulder, stopping them both as now Caleb avoided his eyes, not the other way around.

"I don't know what it was that sent you here, but you're the reason the Nein are coming together. You talked me out of doing things alone. You're the reason we've even got a plan, you know?"

"The Wildmother did not send me South," Caleb said shortly, "And I never came here to fight."

"Caleb, I'm not saying your actions aren't your own, but whatever happened, don't you think it could have been her?"

"I think this is a conversation for another time, Fjord."

Uh oh.

"Is everything all right?"

"I don't want to talk about this right now, please and thank you."

All right, this was more than he was willing to deal with on top of a daring escape from the raiders. Caleb could get real tetchy when he had a mind to.

"And I won't make you, but you just took a turn."

"Very well," said Caleb shortly. "Whatever you were praying for, I am not here to serve you or the Wildmother, even if I will and wish to help you both. I am here for my own reasons. I made my own choices on the road here. Do not doubt that."

"I don't."

Caleb stared him right through, eyes red around the edges and the iris almost green in contrast.

"You don't?"

"No. I only meant that I wanted you to be here, and you came. I don't _understand_ why, but I don't have to." Tentatively, he took Caleb's hand. "We should probably head back."

"I have my lights if it gets dark," said Caleb, instead of answering. Fjord let it go.

"When you're ready to talk, I'll listen."

A wave of relief passed over him when Caleb nodded, squeezing his hand in the moment before he walked away, coat and scarf and trailing edges brushing through the tawny grass.

"Years ago," he said, voice muffled by the rustling noise, "It was me waiting for you to tell your story."

"I suppose what goes around, comes around."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps we're just too similar."

…

The sun had finally set out over the sea by the time they returned to camp, the dancing lights followed by Fjord and then by Caleb. They kept the lights running for Fjord to butcher the rabbit, skinning it and cutting the meat into strips. They roasted some over the campfire and ate quickly. Once that was done and Caleb had started drying the meat, he cut off what fur he could to keep for later. It wasn't much. It could be useful for felting, though or even for a spell component. The rest, Fjord took out into the grass for scavengers to clean.

The two of them didn't talk much through all that, which left a weird little aftertaste to their…fight? It hadn't even been much of an argument.

"We'll move tomorrow then, ja?" said Caleb suddenly. He sat cross-legged next to Fjord, scribbling notes into his book by the firelight. Frumpkin was by his side, in the owl-form they'd been using.

"I think so. Might just take a look out to see how our friends are doing first."

For his part, Fjord had gotten out the bundle of grass fibres he had collected when they first came to this campsite, which he was slowly braiding into a cord. The fibres were more brittle than he'd like, but it would be fine for keeping pouches fastened. Besides, it gave him something to do with his hands and something to look at that wasn't Caleb.

"The spell should have activated. No matter how wet the ship, I would think it would be burning, if it's still intact."

"I don't doubt that, but they could have called for help."

"True enough. I can send Frumpkin out from the top of the ridge, if you're willing to break camp early."

"Certainly. What's the time, by the way?"

He had nearly finished this length of twine, and if they were up early, he might try to get in a few hours of sleep before taking the first real watch. After all, Caleb liked his bedtime reading, and their bedrolls were far enough away from the fire that it wouldn't keep him up.

"It is, uh, nine twenty-two."

"Post meridian?"

"Post meridian."

Fjord risked a glance up to see Caleb smiling, still buried in his book. He hadn't yet worked up the courage to peek at his notes, which were probably illegible, anyway.

"If you're planning on staying up, I might catch a few winks if I can."

"Be my guest. And—Fjord?"

"Mm?"

Caleb put a hand over his. "I will talk about it, just not quite now. There is still much for me to think about."

"Okay. Wake me up when it's first watch, will you?"

"I will."


	6. 6

Thirteen days had passed since Caleb faced Fjord in the wildnerness.

Since then, he'd Sent messages to their friends across the continent. Jester, Beauregard, Caduceus, Nott (and Yeza, and Luc), and even Yasha. Bryce Feelid, now Starosta of Alfield. Essek Thelyss, Cultural Attache of the Xhorhasian embassy. High Richter Dolyn, Lawmaster Orentha, Orly, the Tinkertops, Mr. Lavorre, anyone who might know anyone have some sway over contributions to the security provided by the Clovis Concord and the merchant guilds. Failing that, anyone who might know anyone who would be willing to fight for whatever money the Nein and the smaller townships could scrounge up.

The responses varied, though most promised to do what was in their power to help. Slavery was an evil beyond the usual grit and grime they all saw. But most volunteers were weeks away, and most others would need longer than that to work through legal channels or to gather their forces. So, Caleb and Fjord had set to doing what they did best.

Caleb had drawn up talismans and timed spells on the bits and pieces of quality paper he brought with him. Fjord smuggled some aboard the _Queen's Ransom_ , a ship he'd served on when he'd first started his spying, one that had one or two hands sympathetic to the traveller who had known the ropes. Scum of the earth, but scum he could deal with. He'd planted spells, stolen the logs, and stepped overboard in the night with a prayer to Melora. The _Coaster_ was another of those ships, more a boat, really, lower down on the ladder. Fjord climbed aboard that one and had the planking curl up into shoots. It would sink slowly enough for the crew to escape. Some of them, anyway. Fjord had made sure to shout an alarm before he left. They picked out the ships that passed by using farsight spells and Frumpkin, and mostly Fjord but sometimes Caleb stepped aboard to do what they could.

Yesterday's burning of the _Instigator_ was the last they had done on their way back to Yultia. Caleb was still stepping lightly around Fjord that morning when they packed up. Well, Fjord packed up. He was quick and silent, giving Caleb only a nod as he woke and proceeded straight to the top of the next-door ridge for a look out over the water.

He saw that nothing had come along, as expected, so, packs shouldered and coats fastened, they hiked straight out to the local footpath and headed west.

They ate breakfast in silence, mostly, not wanting to face the day without some ballast. Fjord had passed Caleb a stick of dried fish—disgusting, but he wasn't about to turn it down—and the last of their sweeter dried fruit. They had found some berries along the coast to eat. It wasn't quite the same. He'd noticed Fjord didn't have any for himself, though he didn't thank him aloud. Maybe he was trying to make amends for what he thought might have been the cause of his upset yesterday, which made Caleb feel only more bitter with himself.

He hadn't meant to snap like that, and certainly not at Fjord, but it had hurt to think that he was just the reinforcements. When it had taken so much courage to come here as a friend…but that was not Fjord's fault, no, it was Caleb's for not talking to him.

He didn't thank Fjord, but he did touch him on the shoulder. That would have to do until he could find the words he meant to say.

When the salmon pink of sunrise faded over the eastern hills and his muscles started to heat, Caleb finally found himself able to speak. Even travelling, he didn't properly wake up until quite late. Past nine, to be exact. Fjord didn't seem to mind. At least, he let the conversation between them come naturally.

"How did you find it?" Caleb asked, out of nowhere. "Yultia, I mean. You said you had spent some time there, though I do not think it would be at its loveliest when under attack."

"You'd be right," answered Fjord, simply as ever. "I can't say it was anything special, but the houses were nice. They use wood instead of plaster, since they're not on most major trading routes."

"Oh? There are forests nearby, then."

Fjord seemed to think about that for a moment, raising his eyes to the horizon.

"Yeah. You'd like it there, I think. They whitewash the corners of the houses and paint the slats red and blue, sometimes yellow or green. It's a good look. Homey."

"Did they have houses like that, in Port Damali?" Caleb asked softly. He didn't want to break whatever vision Fjord saw, but somehow he did anyway. Fjord fixed him with a curious look, one of his inscrutable ones, as in the old days. Or, if Caleb were inclined to simple explanations, a wistful look.

"You still haven't been there, have you?"

"No, though I intend to visit."

It occurred to Caleb that he was trying to be clearer these days, so he returned Fjord's half-smile with a grin of his own, keeping pace beside him.

"Right. Well, they don't have those houses in Port Damali. But they did in the places I dreamed of."

"Oh."

"Sorry," Fjord said with a laugh. "That came out dark. I didn't have much to do 'round the orphanage, so sometimes I'd think up places I wanted to live, and they looked like Yultia. Right on the beach, houses like something in a bakery window, just a few docks for fishing boats and not much else."

"You did say that you wanted to live by the sea."

The tamped-down, longish grass beneath their feet was starting to think out and turn to weeds and scrub as they went westward. Caleb could see the cliffs up ahead start to look green rather than brown and gold.

"Yeah. It's been a constant, don't know why. Didn't like much else about home."

For the second time, Caleb laid a hand on Fjord's shoulder rather than say something he meant.

"Awfully good that you were able to escape, then."

"No. Good that I met you guys."

Caleb nodded. Oddly, for winter on the coast, there were patches of blue sky ahead.

"I can only say I understand what you mean."

"I know you do," said Fjord, in that way that somehow communicated admiration and confusion both at once.

They walked side-by-side towards the horizon in silence for some time after that. Caleb didn't quite know what they had said to one another, but as usual, they understood each other. Even so, he felt he needed to apologize by the time they reached the greener salt grass that would pave their way down to the town.

"I am sorry for my outburst, yesterday. It was unfair to put my own feelings on choice and destiny before yours, when I have told you nothing of why I came travelling. You may be right. The Wildmother may have sent me. Whatever is true, I believe the thing I felt drawing me here was my own need. The decision was difficult. I made it fully and willingly, but I cannot say that she never acted in my life."

He was grateful that he could finish that spiel in peace, without having to explain himself partway through. In fact, Fjord seemed relieved, not ready to argue, leaving Caleb's heart just a little warmer in his chest.

"You were forgiven already, so I think all I can do is accept that, right?"

"It is the done thing."

"Then I accept your apology, Caleb Widogast. I'll even give you one of my own—"

"There's no need," he said quickly. "You already did, and besides, you just spoke your thoughts. Whatever I found in that, it is not an offense."

Fjord stared at him a moment in surprise, but nodded. "All right. So long as you know that I mean it."

"I do."

Suddenly, Fjord laughed. "Look at us, we're talking to each other, and we're saying 'sorry,' and we're talking about home. When did that happen?"

 _When I realized I couldn't bear it if it didn't_ , Caleb didn't say.

"We have gotten old," is what he did, "There is not so much time left for us that we can waste it on silly hang-ups."

"I think we've had enough of those."

"Exactly."

…

It was past noon by the time they got past the bounds of Yultia, marked by rocks on the beach and scores in the bark of the surrounding trees. The two of them marched in along the beach, picking over the spots where the mercenary campfires had burned more than a month ago.

"You said you were able to broker a deal for protection here," murmured Caleb as they passed. "Do you know if it still holds?"

He nodded towards the ship they'd seen from far off, moored some ways offshore and comically large next to the fishing boats.

"Should do." Fjord shaded his eyes, to see if he could make out the details of the ship. It seemed to be a faster one, but the trappings looked more boring than pirates' things.

"Well, if you need me to uh, light them up, then I can always do so."

"Thanks, Cay, but I hope we won't be needing that."

"Of course not, of course not," stammered Caleb. "I meant—"

"Hey, I know." He had to bite back a chuckle. Caleb was still Caleb, even if he was being more up front these days. "Try to relax, why don't you?"

"You should know better than to ask me to do that, eh, Fjord."

"I suppose I should. Come on, I think someone's spotted us. Don't want to keep them waiting, now."

It took another quarter hour or so to get to the town proper, where they were greeted by one of the elder townspeople and a smattering of folk who had seen the Paladin return with the same sword strapped to his back, and who probably wanted to check out the charming companion. They spread out on the one paved square outside of the village hall, hanging back while the elder greeted them.

"Paladin! Are you safe?"

"Quite so, but that's not the reason for my visit. How have the people of Yultia held up?"

"We are safe for now," quavered the elder, "Thanks to your aid and the aid of the guild. No more have been taken, and no more killed, of ours, though one of the hired women lies buried in the graveyard. We heard you were being hunted—is this one you captured?"

They waved at Caleb, though Fjord couldn't find humour in the situation now. He made a note to stop by the grave later and grow something. For Molly, if for no one else.

"I'm sorry for the loss of our fighter, but I'm glad the rest of you are safe. The raiders did send men after me, but they weren't experienced. One of them ran into Caleb here, the worse for them."

"So he is an ally then."

"Sure. Caleb, why don't you introduce yourself? This is Town Elder Pely'."

He caught the stink-eye Caleb flashed him as he stepped forward, bowing deeply and extending a hand to Pely', who shook it.

"It is good to meet you. I am Caleb Widogast. I am Fjord's partner, and I am a wizard of the school of transmutation."

Fjord shook his head, noting the interest in Pely's eyes. "He's good for some weather and a firebolt, but I'm thinking his mind might be of more use here. He's always been our strategist."

"Has something happened?"

"Nothing as yet. We have reason to believe these raiders were only one ship working for a larger organization, so it is possible that more will come. What is also possible is that I might have to send people elsewhere along this coast to Yultia to stay, if the raids step up. In that case, you'll have more manpower, but adjustments will have to be made."

That all was a lot to dump on a person early in the afternoon, but Pely' took it about as well as he'd hoped, tightening their lips but not unkindly.

"I understand that this situation is hard already," he continued, pulling out the faux-Vandren voice he still used for diplomacy, "But the sooner we can exchange information, the better chance you and I will have of staying safe. If it's not an imposition, I would suggest discussing the matter in detail. The guild, your town council, and any mercenaries involved would all have valuable information to contribute."

"Yultia is the only town we know of that has repelled these pirates," Caleb chimed in helpfully. "We might also take some lessons from your example, knowing how great the danger now is."

That seemed to convince Pely', who nodded sternly, turning to one of the onlookers, a young man who looked an awful lot like them. Their son, Fjord remembered. "Evin, get everyone together. Paladin, wizard, you may follow me."

It felt like something more than it was, as the three of them climbed the stone stairs from the beach and docks up to the town, then along the main drag. The rough fortifications he'd helped put up were still there, wooden fences and planks set up along the stretched-out town's southern edge. For the most part, they'd scavenged the arrows stuck in there, but some of the heads had been buried to the shaft, leaving the arrowheads now as decoration. If things escalated, and Yultia ended up more of a battleground, he'd have to do better.

The fences weren't the only thing left over from the raids. Doors that had been open or even absent when he first arrived were shut and barred. There were people out in the streets on the north side of town, but only a handful by the beach. Most people out were working, and smoke rose from a few of the chimneys where folks would be weaving or sewing. The place was watchful, and for good reason.

Caleb didn't talk to him on the way there, out loud or in his head, but he could see him taking in each and every detail. His eyes skittered about bird-like, never stopping for longer than a second.

He was thinking about something, thinking hard. If Fjord was lucky, he was thinking about the security of the town against a sea-based attack, maybe a pincer siege if things went south and the raiders held a grudge. They still didn't know for sure if they'd hit the place looking for a harbour to use as a base, as he'd first thought, or whether they had thought a town like that would be easy to snap up, a few hundred captives swallowed up in a siege that would leave a skeleton of a home behind. If the second, well, that was a thought to send a chill down your spine. If the first, then they'd be back and they'd be ready to fight.

And if Fjord was lucky, the same thing was running through Caleb's mind. If he wasn't, then the poor man was thinking of how to get away from here before he had to kill someone.

He couldn't blame him. He couldn't even say which one he wanted him to be thinking.

Strike that. He couldn't say what Caleb should be thinking, but if he levelled with himself, he wanted him to think whatever would keep him by his side.

That was on him. Caleb was going to think what he was going to think, and Fjord was going to take care of what was important.

…

The town hall was one of the few stone buildings in town, the white slabs shipped in from the mountains on barges in the canal centuries ago. It was square and simple, with some stylings on the low roof and red brickwork marking patterns along the edges of the walls. Inside, the main room was a long, plain chamber with threadbare tapestries along the walls and a wooden table running the length of the room. Around it were gathered some town elders, a few middle-aged people who looked to be townsfolk, two mercenaries, and a handful of guild representatives. Pely', the elder who brought them to the place, had waved Fjord into the chair at one end, while the Mayor took her place at the opposite end. As for Caleb, he took his place at Fjord's right hand with a long moment of hesitation.

He needn't have worried. Fjord let him do most of the talking, laying out what they had gathered and why they had returned. It was clever, really. By using Caleb as a mouthpiece for the information they both had gathered, Fjord could then present his own conjectures later on in the meeting without seeming to control the discussion, and Caleb would not have to do much diplomacy, having already said his part.

That said, he did wish Fjord had given him more warning about making a speech. Three times yet he had forgotten to clarify his statements and had to double back and correct himself, then return forward as seamlessly as he coud manage. That was not very much. The end result was rather more a rambling than an organized presentation.

"Essentially, we are not sure of how many people, how many ships, how many organizations are in league with or somehow controlling the raiders that tried to take this town. Fjord has learned that they are slave-takers, that they have reach all along the coasts of the Empire and inland somewhat, and that the pirates you have fought were most likely working at arms' length from whoever is, uh, running this thing. So, the situation may not be so bad."

"What?"

A few murmurs of confusion rose up from their impromptu council before Caleb had finished, but he pressed on anyway, sighting Fjord's raised hand from the corner of his eye. He was thankful for the support.

"The raiders may have been looking to make some quick money by capturing a town to sell the people," he clarified. "As opposed to picking off a few fishing boats, and without the trouble they might incur if they targeted merchant vessels. If that is so, then we must hope they have learned their lesson, and that they will stay clear of Yultia."

He was answered with a round of nods from the assembly this time, which he was grateful for, as that would not happen again.

"That is not so bad. The alternative is that they or their masters wish to have a harbour they can control. If that is so, then they may return to attack Yultia once more, and they will be ready for the resistance they have seen already. That is bad news," he finished lamely. "We are here to give you as much information as possible about these raiders, and to do what we can to strengthen your town and protect your people in the days that we have."

Fjord picked up seamlessly from that, handling the speech like a charmer with a snake.

"I can't speak to this particular group, but Caleb and I have dealt with slavers, pirates, and the like before. Your knowledge of this land and your experience, as well as ours, should give us a fighting chance if these raiders do return. Caleb and I will have to leave here in three days or sooner, to organize some more proactive measures with an Expositor contact. Let us know what we can do, and we'll do it."

The mercenaries and one of the guild representatives looked as if they were about to speak, but the mayor beat them to it.

"Paladin, if I'm understanding it, this problem goes far beyond what any of us here is able to handle. What about the Zolezzo, or even the Crownsguard? Surely the Empire has noticed its citizens going missing, and can send some to help. Your Expositor, at least, should command some power."

At the imperceptible nod from Fjord, Caleb stepped in to answer.

"We have a contact within the Crownsguard who has started to investigate, and we have asked for help from those we know who have experience with this sort of sustained campaign. Even so, the sheer spread of these incidents means that they will be spread thin. Most kidnappings we have heard of were on the road, and we have heard of those from the lucky ones. The Crownsguard will be fully occupied within the Empire. As for the Zolezzo, Fjord has informed them, but they are fewer and further between than Crownsguard, and traffic has been heavy, as you all have seen. It is possible that none are free to come to Yultia, not with the defenses you already have. When we don't even know if there will be another attack, many will see it as unnecessary."

"They think they're more important than us," the Mayor said simply.

"Not in so many words, but they will see the risk of diverting resources to this place is high. Again, we have asked for all the help we can, but your defenses here are good."

He bowed slightly, on instinct.

"There is the matter of our arrangement," a guild representative chimed in. He was a thin, aging man in worn but good clothes. "The deal has been good to us, but if these pirates are as organized as you say, we are not able to put up a sustained fight with the resources we have. We are a deterrent, but we are not a defense."

"I understand that," Fjord answered, "But the pirates might not, and we can bank on that. If your employees are able to stay here as long as possible, or even repel a light attack, they might see it as a stronger defense than it is, and steer clear."

From there, the discussion shifted more towards Fjord. The mercenary representatives wanted to be sure of the risk of attack, so they could discuss their employment with the guild. The guild representatives wanted to know if the town would finance any mercenaries, and the town councillors wanted to know if the Paladin could possibly spare a few more days. They talked, but no change presented itself. Between them, they knew frustratingly little about a frustratingly large threat, and the consequences of an attack were too dire to risk letting their defenses down. At the very least, there seemed to be little enmity in the room.

There was tension, though. It was some way to boiling over, but when all was said the merchant guild was here only as long as the use of this harbour turned a profit, the mercenaries they hired worked only when their pay balanced with their lives, and the town had little to give and much to ask from both groups.

It was still quite amazing, the fluidity and grace with which Fjord kept the focus moving from each group to another, always explaining just enough to satisfy and giving enough deference to be allowed control over the room. With Nott and Jester's constant encouragement, he had become comfortable thinking of himself as a good speaker, or one able to keep the pace of a discussion movement while keeping the peace, but that was the work of an amateur of little skill next to Fjord's instinctive ease.

He had thought back on it many times, their first few weeks together. He had been so struck by him that he had failed to see how Fjord was still as desperate as he, and as childish. His actions were impulsive and at random; he flowed to whatever seemed best at the time, and his leadership was driven by a need to keep moving. But, at the time his manner had made him seem…so unlike Caleb, which had charmed him in the most literal sense. Listening to him, one felt as if there was no need to worry.

Of course, now that Fjord had learned some wisdom, things were still the same. Why else had Caleb travelled here?

He always drew him in.

The meeting adjourned with the guild representatives and mercenaries going their way and the town council issuing their directions to the two of them. The Paladin was to look after the health and security of the sea and forest, taking what lumber he could for construction, while his partner was to build what magical defenses he could and instruct their few magic-users in combat.

The wooden chairs scraped with an agonizing sound against the stone floor as the town council, Fjord, and himself all rose. Pely' took Fjord with them to the places of divine and natural significance, while a younger, elven-looking man offered his hand to Caleb.

"Vasily Regnarsov. I'm a priest of the Stormlord, but here I'm also the closest we have to a teacher of the arcane."

"It is an honour," Caleb said politely, shaking his hand as the others filed out. "I take it that you do not have many mages, in these parts?"

Regnarsov shook his head with some chagrin. "Most as have power leave. There's better pay on the sea or in the bigger ports, for those who learn on their own, and those who need instruction go to Soltryce or Tal'Dorei if they can afford it. You're a wizard, I understand?"

"Yes," he admitted, "Though I am mostly self-taught. My formal instruction was…little, and it was long ago."

"Well, you'll probably be suited to my group. I train 'em up in basic safety and history, but I can't do technique. I have no powers of my own, you see, so…"

The man clearly felt some uneasiness at the prospect of sending the town's mages into battle, which Caleb took it upon himself to quiet. Regnarsov was right, of course, but they had few other options.

"It will not be a problem. Even if you had all had formal education, it would not be of much use here. Better that we work with the magic that each one has already learned, yes?"

"Yes. Right. Uh, why don't you come along? I'll put the word out. We usually meet in the square in front of the temple."

Regnarsov already had one foot out the door, as it were, gesturing to Caleb to follow. He did not seem a bad sort.

"That should work well, thank you."

With a curt nod to one another, the priest and the wizard set out to do what they could with three days and a handful of amateurs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you all! It's nice to have something to work on in these times, even if it is at the cost of 4 major projects and as many assignments. Small note: the description of Yultia was based off of Newfoundland towns


	7. 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is going on in this fic? Don't ask me!

Two dozen odd magic users, a motley bunch indeed, were scattered across the dirt square by the temple to the Stormlord. It was Yultia's main religious establishment, Fjord had told him, the Wildmother having her own bower out in the woods. Without the holy symbols, it looked to be a simple house.

As they started, Caleb had instructed each to sound off with their name, age, and magical source so as to better instruct them.

A decent few, mostly younger ones, were clearly genasi of some kind. Water, air, and one mud, the child of two genasi or one and an elemental, perhaps. Regnarsov had told him quietly before that genasi were somewhat common children among those who ventured out to sea, and that many left the town for the sea or the wilderness once they were of age. Apart from those, there was an older human who said she had learned formally, and carried the many-pocketed coat to support it. Several claimed a deity as the source of their powers, though they not all said whether that deity had more in common with Melora or more with Uk'otoa.

Still, Caleb reminded himself, Fjord had saved lives and done good using the power of both gods. The point was moot in such a short timeframe.

That left one old elf, who claimed to have learned some of the the Old Magics in his youth, and one halfling boy in his early teens with an affinity for the element of water. A sorcerer, the rarest of mages whose magic is built into his very being. It didn't stop him from making a remark to one of the young water genasi that had them chattering all through the roll call. Caleb had come far away from home, but the chaos of the classroom apparently knew no borders.

"All right," he called out after the last introduction. Beside him, Rengarsov motioned for the mages to be quiet. "It is my turn now. My name is Caleb Widogast, I am in my forties, which contains all the detail you should ask from a person my age, and I am a wizard. My magic is learned, and very slowly, so you will have to forgive me if my instruction reflects that. Please, do not hesitate to speak up if my advice is based upon incorrect conclusions, yes?"

There was some hesitant assent from the group.

"Good. Ah, good. Okay. Now, can we start with some groupings? If you have some control over water, please move over to the right, and if you have an affinity for elemental air, then move to the left."

The students obediently, if slowly, separated themselves into a left group, a central group, and a right group.

"Thank you. Within your groups, would those able to perform healing move to the front? Thank you."

It took a few minutes for him to finally organize a gradient of abilities, but it did help with processing the raw capabilities of this group. Those who worked with water were plenty, which was of great use—any attack from the sea could be repelled or weakened by elemental manipulation, especially if some were able to work together and create amplified spells. Air mages, though fewer, would do what they could to drive away the ships while their sails were still raised. As for logistics, the healers would be their greatest asset. Yultia had a very limited supply of manpower, with only a few hundred residents living there and fewer still able to defend their home. Those that fought could not afford to be taken out, especially those skilled with ranged weapons or magic.

As he expected, few of the people gathered there had great destructive capacities against humanoid fighters. After all, what was the use of learning those spells in a village where the ocean was a bigger threat than a person?

Nonetheless, there were many spells that could be put to use. Most had hunted or fished, and stocked up spells that were enough to stun or scare away a large fish or beast. The sorcerer boy could cast cold spells beyond what made Caleb comfortable, while many of the assembled clerics could call down strikes similar to Fjord's eldritch blasts, only coming from the power of the Stormlord.

After investigating further, he separated them into groups of four based on abilities and had each group drill different spells together, testing them to see if they could amplify their abilities at all while working together. Some managed it, and some helpfully pointed out that they were already able to synchronize their magic with some of the others. These were two genasi siblings, who had practiced together since childhood, and one of the genasi and a cleric, who had experimented in using electricity with water to catch fish in larger numbers. The technique was impractical for fishing, they said, but it could give one a very nasty shock if you got too close and the wood of your boat was too wet.

Needless to say, the hard-packed dirt of the square was quickly torn up by shifting feet and misaimed shots. It was a relief that they all seemed to enjoy it. With one or two years out of the classroom, Caleb had feared he would be rusty.

By the end of the first session, they seemed to have come across some serviceable strategies, or at least something they could build off of. A front line of elemental magicians could hold back any seaborne attackers while a few longbow archers and the more destructive magic users could pick off pirates from afar. A line of healers, as far as possible behind the front line, could reinforce the forward mages against attack. If worst came to worst, that line might hold off pirates long enough for the town to evacuate.

However, any sane captain would bring along mages of his own, who would break through any defenses put up by these elders and children. They would need an evacuation strategy for the defenders.

He would discuss it with Fjord tonight before they slept, to see if he had found anything in his rounds of the town's non-magical defenses that might help them, or at least serve to back the mages. For now, he called a break for the evening meal, asking his students-of-the-day to return for another three hours starting at six o'clock sharp.

However—

"Hey! Mr. Widogast?"

—the young sorcerer did not seem to realize that the dinner break was, indeed, a break. As the others scattered and returned to their houses, he had insisted on conversing with Caleb on his way.

"That is my name," Caleb said, without a trace of the exhaustion that was starting to sink in. The morning really had been a long time ago.

"Yeah, you told us. You've done this before, right?"

The boy, barely up to Caleb's thigh, gave him a gap-toothed and somewhat threatening grin.

"I am a wizard, and a teacher. I should hope I have done magic before."

"No, no, I mean—you've done fighting!"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because you're good at it."

Caleb nodded, unable to refute that point, but unwilling to lead the conversation. Really, he had been talking all afternoon, and he had spent the morning hiking overland, so it was better that he avoid the unnecessary work.

"I have had much experience and training, yes. I would say I am good at it."

"So, what have you done? Were you out killing pirates? Were you part of the Crownsguard? Were you at Soltryce Academy?"

They were walking at a faster clip than one might have guessed from the young man's stature, to the point where Caleb had to push forward.

"Before I answer your questions, I must ask what you plan to do with the information I give you."

"Come on," the boy sighed. "I just want the stories. Mama's never going to send me out for school, so this is all I've got, you know. Wait—I've got another question—how long have you been with Paladin Fjord? Did you guys fight together? He told us a few stories, when dad was holed up in the hospital."

The kid sounded so genuinely enthusiastic that he couldn't refuse him any longer, so Caleb carefully picked his way through the subject matter.

"Fjord and I did work together for a time, yes. Do you know how the peace between Xhorhas and the Empire came about?"

"They talked it out, I think. Something like that."

"You are correct," said Caleb, biting back a smile. "However, someone needed to convince the Dynasty to talk with the Empire, and the other way around, as well. Do you know who that was?"

"Nope. Was it Paladin Fjord?"

"Mm, you are somewhat right."

This still-precocious halfling could afford to dangle for a little while.

"Was it his Expositor friend? "

"Not quite."

Having wandered his way through the streets—street, rather—of Yultia, Caleb found himself a nice rock overlooking the beach, where he stopped and unshouldered his bag. He sat down…as did the sorcerer beside him. Ah, well. The dried fish and seaweed would likely be enough for two. The only problem was that his water was running low. However, if the boy had as much affinity to water as it seemed, he might be able to generate his own. It was an interesting possibility. After all, hadn't Fjord had his seemingly boundless supply of seawater to choke on?

That was a question for another time. Right now, the young man was watching him intently.

"Are you even going to tell me, or do I have to remember everyone he's ever mentioned and see if it's them?" The boy gave him a quizzical look.

"No, no," Caleb relented. "I won't make you go so far. It was myself, and Beauregard, and Fjord, and Jester and Caduceus, and Nott, and Yasha, too. We were able to be in the right place at the right time to bring things about that likely would have happened otherwise, but that happened around us. In this version of reality, at least."

"Who're they? The rest of them, I mean."

The boy accepted Caleb's offered cod without sniffing, so perhaps he might find it less of an acquired taste than Caleb had.

"My dear friends. Beauregard is the Expositor you've heard of, Nott is the lightest-fingered thief you'll meet, Jester is a powerhouse of a brawler and a very generous person, Caduceus is very wise—he taught Fjord everything he knows, though you did not hear me say that—and Yasha is the strongest person I know."

"I heard the Paladin talk about Caduceus! And is Jester the blue lady? I saw her stop here with the Paladin sometimes, but I never met her."

"Yes, that is Jester. You would like her very much, I feel, if you had the chance to talk with her."

"Do you think?"

"I do."

The view out south to the ocean was particularly lovely in the winter, when the sun veered its course southward until it sank in the heart of the southwest, touching down slowly over the waves. Caleb took out a canvas packet of dried apple rings, offering some for the boy to chew on. Maybe his poor mother would be able to compensate him for all the rations her child was shovelling in his mouth, not that Caleb begrudged him the meal.

"Nice! And what about the Paladin?"

"Pardon?"

"You said you had an Expositor, a thief, a powerhouse, a wise man, a strong woman, but you didn't say anything about you or Paladin Fjord."

"Well, you already know that I am a mage, and really, what is special about Fjord?" Caleb teased. Someone had a far better reputation than he let on.

"You know he fought off the pirates! He was five-on-one! And made flowers grow on Pauli's grave. You should've seen us. Everyone would be moaning and griping, but if he came along, they didn't just shut up, it was like they stopped worrying. He made them feel strong."

The boy had rather a way with words, or at least a keen eye. What Fjord did was less extraordinary than how he did it, in such a way that even the most ordinary action could feel momentous.

"You do have an argument. I am, uh, I suppose what I do is that I try very hard to be a good friend, and Fjord has a silver tongue."

The boy made a face at this that would have befitted a younger child than fourteen.

"What? How does he talk with it?"

"Oh, I think I did not translate that exactly. He is…very charming. Everything he says sounds…not harsh, like an iron bell, but sweet, like silver. At least I think that is where the saying comes from."

"Does he know that?" the kid asked, giving him the same predatory grin as he had at first. Oh, dear. "Did you tell him?"

"I would assume he knows, yes. You are aware of your own skills, are you not?"

The boy was disappointed that he had not riled him up. This one would have been an interesting student to have in the classroom. "Yeah, yeah. So how did you guys convince everyone to talk about the war?"

"We helped some people in the Empire, and then we stole a part of the Xhorhasian god back from the Empire and gave it to them, and then we came back to the Empire and asked them to speak with the Dynasty. Well," he corrected himself hurriedly, "We didn't steal the Beacon from the Empire, but we took it from the person who stole it, so it was more or less the same thing."

The boy kicked up the sand at the base of the rock, digging his bare feet into it.

"That sounds complicated."

"It was."

"Do you think the pirates are going to come back?"

Caleb nearly did a double take. The question was posed with utter nonchalance, though whether the boy was simply unaware of the situation or was putting on a brave face was unclear. From what he could tell, he had at least the cunning to do it well.

"I don't know, and any guess I make is likely to be incorrect."

"That's no help," the boy said without judgment.

"No. I'm sorry."

"Are you fighting them?"

"As much as we can. Fjord and I are only two people down here, but Beauregard and Jester are coming down from the north to help. They should be here within two weeks. Do you see a stain on my face, or am I just malodourous?"

He said the last bit deadpan, as the boy had chosen to stare at him oddly.

"Nah, you're just looking pretty down about that. Thought they were your friends, weren't they?"

There was no use arguing. He'd said it with that same conviction Caduceus had, and Caleb, for one, knew there was some truth in it.

"Your name was Ivan, wasn't it?"

He turned towards presumably-Ivan, folding his hands over his knees to keep from fidgeting.

"Yep. My dad's name, and his dad's name. It's boring."

"Mm. You've got quite a talent for reading people, and for asking difficult questions."

Ivan nodded understandingly, as if he was pleased Caleb had finally gotten the point.

"Mom always told me to ask questions if I don't know the answer."

"Your mother gives good advice."

"Not good names, though."

The wind had picked up as night fell, pushing waves up and further on to the beach. They fell down with force but softly, dragging their fingers in the sand as they were pulled back out and thrust up again, continuing their cycle.

"Possibly not. I'm happy that I will be seeing my friends soon, but Jester and I fought about small and important things when last we saw each other, so I am sad that she might still resent me over that. Surely you have done the same. And I have had much time to think about things while I am travelling, but when we are all together again, I will have to make some decisions about that, which may make her resent me more."

"Why don't you just say sorry?"

"I would not blame her if she did not forgive me."

One wave climbed over the back of another, producing a wall of water that washed smooth pebbles up to where the grass started. As it drained out, it pulled a worn piece of driftwood with it, though not all the way back to the sea.

"Eh, still worth a try. It always works for me."

"Ah, but I feel I need to say something that will hurt her further. Either that, or I must lie to her."

Ivan laughed, then nearly choked on the seventh ring of dried apple he'd stolen, then snorted some more.

"You need to? Are you, like, cursed or something?"

A few waves had passed since the large one, and only now did one reach out far enough to close its foamy mouth around the driftwood and swallow it.

"No," said Caleb wearily. "But I think I will regret it for a long time if I do not. I have many regrets. I cannot afford another on my salary."

"Then that's your problem."

He found himself doing a silly little half-bow. "It is. Thank you for your advice, Ivan, and for eating all my food."

"You don't care. I bet you're sick of it."

Ivan was right. 

But damn him, it should be very easy to choose one thing or another. There was no guarantee of any change in how things were at all, just a clearing of the air. _I know you_ , he could say to him, or _I would follow you_ , or _I would have you by my side_ , or even _you are me and I am you_. None of it was right, but none of it was wrong either.

He would finish his meal, he would continue drills tonight, and he would discuss strategies with Fjord well into the night. Then, laying in bed, he would do as he had done while travelling and wonder how it could be worth it to say to the man that he trusted him, that he admired him, and that he loved him in such a way that the sense of _wrongness_ he felt while apart had driven him from home and from what most would call a perfect happiness. How could he burden Fjord like that?

The answer was simple. He wanted to.

Waves crashed upon the shore. The sun was now just teetering on the edge of the horizon, focing Ivan hold a hand to his eyes as he watched it and making Caleb lower his.

"Are your mother and father expecting you home for dinner?"

Ivan shrugged.

"They know I'll be home before bedtime. I always come back. Plus, I've had dinner, so it's not like I need to go there."

"You should thank them. It is a rare thing for parents to trust their children that much."

"Yeah, okay. But I like to watch the sunset."

"I did not tell you that you had to leave. Now, tell me, what kind of stories do you like to hear? I'm sure I could find some more that are more exciting than our Paladin's."

…

Fjord cautiously closed the door of the inn behind him, nodding at a rangy dwarf woman who stood behind the bar. She was the owner of this salt-dried wooden building. It was a good enough inn for this kind of town, four rooms perched over the a watering hole where a few patrons were up enjoying a drink. Not many, though. Most here were probably too worried for a good night out. The sun had set hours ago, and the land breezes had picked up, giving the air quite a chill.

"Good evening, Miss Annamariya," he greeted, ducking under the low cross-beams that supported the sagging ceiling. "Pardon my lateness, but the mayor said I might find a room here?"

"Sure," answered the dwarf, bringing a key up from under the bar. "Your friend's already here, so don't be too loud. It's the far one, closest to the sea."

"Thank you again, for the room. And don't worry about Caleb, he never goes to sleep before midnight."

"It's not healthy, for a man of his age."

"You should tell him," Fjord laughed. "He might just listen to you. I'll be upstairs if anyone needs help, though I'll be up early if they can wait the night."

Annamariya nodded, raising a half-full mug of lager to him.

"Right. Your good health, Paladin."

"And yours, Miss Anna, and yours."

With a shallow bow, he turned on his heel, remembering just in time to duck his head again beneath the lowest part of the ceiling. He found the stairs near the door. This late at night, he made sure to walk up sticking far to the right. True enough, he didn't expect Caleb to be sleeping, but best keep the creaking down anyway. He was vaguely aware he'd been working the man hard, and he was used to a home and a hearth, not Fjord's wandering.

It was part of the reason he'd chosen to stay here. These days, he'd grown fond of sleeping underneath the stars. His blood was hotter than a humans and his skin thicker, an adaptation from ancestors who put their tool-using skills to work in war rather than weaving. With a good lean-to or a quick prayer, there wasn't much need to worry about, short of a real storm. It kept him close to his domain. He had to stay close—he wasn't in the habit of getting distracted, but when his own petty problems or personal whims got in the way of his work, it didn't go so well. So he kept the ground beneath him and the sky over him, and that kept it simple.

With Caleb along, though, his spells and and his didn't do much for the fact that he was a human on the other side of his prime. It was stupid to make them both camp out when they had the option not to, and it was none too polite for Fjord to sleep separately, not to mention impractical.

He reached the top of the stairs, and, seeing the orange glowing out from under the far door, stepped into their room quietly. It was simple, just a bed in the corner, a chair, and a wooden table with a lamp. Some magical flame or other burned in a small hearth, not crackling nor spitting up smoke. All in all, it wasn't too bad. This town didn't see visitors, for the most part, just family from abroad and the occasional wanderer.

Caleb was exactly where you'd expect him, on the chair poring over a book that lay open on the table, by the lamp. The writing he could see was crisp and geometric, but in pencil rather than ink, littered with the signs of heavy editing. What Fjord didn't expect was that he looked up to greet him, set down his pencil, and turned the chair around, watching him as he closed the door behind him and took the pack from his shoulders.

"Ah, there you are. I was worried you may have been pulled into another meeting or other."

"Nothing of the sort," Fjord replied. "Things just went a little long—had to hike up into the forest to check the canal."

"You think that may be another avenue of attack?"

"Can't rule it out. It's why the guild's still here, after all. What were you working on, there?"

He gestured at Caleb's notebook, then leaned down to unpacking a few supplies he'd picked up. It would be nice not to have dried fish, for a change. Not that he minded it too much.

"A few sketches. I have been quite focused on my academics these past years, I have neglected a lot of the more basic skills."

"Such as?"

"Removing salt from seawater, flames that work to cauterize wounds, heat spells that can give a sustained dose…little things."

Having gone through his kit, Fjord unhitched his oilskin cloak, realized he didn't have anywhere to put it, and awkwardly shook it out. He could hang it over the bedframe, maybe, or the door if Caleb didn't mind a draft.

"I can't deny, those may come in handy. If I may—"

"Yes?"

If you'd asked him, and he didn't know Caleb very well, he'd say there was just a little bit of something wobbly in that. But no one had asked Fjord, and whatever the two of them were, he knew Caleb like the soles of his boots. He started unbuckling his armour and tossing it into a pile in the corner.

"Why the lamp?"

"To read." Caleb looked confused. "What else?"

"I mean, you've got those lights…"

"Oh, yes. Well, I have been thinking of magic all day, and doing magic all day, and I am now thinking more about magic, so I just thought—perhaps this is enough magic. The lamp will do."

Caleb's fingers tended to twitch when they weren't occupied with writing, spells, or fidgeting with his bandages. Fjord had been counting the seconds it took for him to clasp them together. He was half-turned in the chair, knees facing the desk and arms slung over the back of the chair.

"I suppose you're right. Um, how long are you planning to stay up? I might just go straight to bed, if that's okay with you."

"Well, it's eleven twenty-six right now, and I'd say I still have an hour or so of work to do. You go to sleep up here; I can finish this downstairs."

"Hey, no need," said Fjord, now struggling out of his boots. The leather was good and soft, which meant that they'd pretty much become a second skin when worn in damp weather with thick woollen socks. Like now. "I'm used to sleeping through a lot, it won't be a bother."

Caleb gave him a wan smile. "If you're sure."

"I am. Damn—uh, could you give me a hand with these? Just, like, hold on to them and I'll try to get my foot out."

"The mighty Fjord, not strong enough?"

"It's the angle. Can't help it if I get stiff after a day and a half's walk."

"Very well, I suppose I can help."

It took a few good moments, but eventually he was down to stockinged feet and two layers of clothing, which was still less than he wore most nights on land. It sure had been a while since he'd spent his downtime in a settlement. His original trip up the coast had been supposed to be that, at least, but the Mother apparently had other plans. Plans that involved raiders in Yultia, new graves, a search for answers, and a chance meeting on the heath.

He was aware of Caleb having said something that he missed completely, being bone tired and all. Still, it was probably rude to just nod and gesture vaguely.

"Pardon?"

"I asked how your rounds went."

"Oh, yes. Sorry, it's been a long day. Month. Yeah."

His head suddenly gave a twinge. He rubbed a hand over his temple, trying to get rid of whatever tension was fucking with him this time.

"So…?" said Caleb, head tilted at half an angle.

"It all went well enough. Four mercenaries up at the canal checkpoint, warning spells on the main forest tracks, and they've got furniture and sawhorses marked off for a barrier in case they need one. They've had the kids up in the woods for food and firewood, and it looks like they haven't been taking too much. If all goes to plan, the non-fighters should muster at the town hall and last a while. The one problem is drinking water, but they've apparently got a good stock of springwater and wine in the hall cellar."

"A while."

"A week, maybe? Depends. If they fight as long as they're able and they're willing to let the town burn down to save themselves, then a week at least against a real attack. They stand a chance at repelling them, even, if it's only one crew from one direction."

"Still, that doesn't sound like a very good outcome."

Fjord sighed. As usual, Caleb was right. If he hadn't been there for the first attack, Yultia would be a pirate town and the people here slaves. A few of their better archers magic users had gone down even then. Mother help them if the raiders ever seriously tried to take the town.

"No, it doesn't does it?"

"Fjord—"

Caleb raised his head, either beckoning him forward or just thinking hard. Probably the last one.

"Yeah?"

"We're doing what we can."

"I know."

"We—you cannot do anything more than what you've done."

Fjord gave up, and sat down heavily on the bed. "Really, I know. It's not that. It's that I've done everything I can, and the best I can hope for is a week if things go wrong. I've been fighting pirates, I've been fighting merchants, I've gone where I've been sent and I've protected wild things, I've protected people, I've done it alone, I've done it with Jester or Deuce, I have done _everything_ , but it's still gone to shit."

Without saying anything, Caleb got up from his chair and sat down next to him.

"Don't get me wrong," he said, listening to his own words like they were something new. "I mean, I'm glad the war's over. But it hadn't changed much. We've just got forest clearances for merchant fleet and not the navy, and fields are turning to dust to feed everyone's new families instead of their armies. The world's never been less wild than it is now, with travellers and caravans tracking east, west, north, south, and beneath the wheels of carts there's frogs, flowers, things that can't live there any more and will no longer. Things die. That's natural. But not the way we kill them."

By this point, he expected Caleb to jump in and say something reassuring like Jester always had, but he stayed quiet. The silence was gnawing at Fjord like a headache.

"I've done good," he muttered. "It's not bragging, or anything, I know I've done good. I've _felt_ I've done good. I save _people_. I save places, I make sure everything follows where it's supposed to go, and it's not enough. Nothing I ever do's going to be enough. You know, I think this is how Caduceus might have felt, with the whole corruption and all. Just sitting in the temple, all alone, watching it all get closer, knowing there was nothing you could do other than make your peace with it. I don't feel as if nothing I do has meaning. It's still hard to think about."

He breathed in hard.

"I don't regret following. But I may just spend the rest of my life running around trying to stop a tide from coming in that could swamp me in a second, and I might just do it alone out here. I don't want that."

Caleb was _there_. He heard him breathing, quiet as a churchmouse, and he felt the depression in the shoddy mattress beside him, he saw him as a shadow in the corner of his eye. He felt his hand resting on his shoulder, but still, he was alone.

"Aren't you going to say something?" he asked.

"That depends," said Caleb. "Is there more that is weighing on you."

Yes, Fjord didn't answer. Your hand, for one. What you said and didn't say to Jester. What she did and didn't say to me. Why she's not here with me. Why I'm not there with her. Why you came to me now, why you did it at all, and why you didn't do it sooner. Why you're not telling me anything. Why you're so willing to fight after finding the best life you could have. What I'll do if I look away for one second and something happens to you. Why any of this matters to me, when there's so much out there and you, Caleb, you're just one person.

"What," he said hoarsely, "Ten minutes wasn't enough for you?"

"It was only four and twenty-five seconds. So there is more?"

Fjord looked at him, caught halfway between disbelieving and exasperated. The man was making a joke? Here? Caleb?

"No, I think that was about it."

"Well." Caleb kept the hand on his shoulder, and placed the other one over Fjord's own hand. "If you will forgive me for saying so, you have a nasty habit that you have not quite kicked of not talking to people about things that are hard for you."

"I wouldn't say you're wrong, but I don't think you're the one to say that to me."

"I am aware."

"Good."

Caleb smiled wryly at him, and patted him twice on the shoulder.

"Nonetheless, I know sometimes if someone says anything, you will latch on to that and make something up along those lines that you think they want to hear, or play into it some other way. I myself am not very good at talking. So, I just decided to let you speak until you had run out of words."

"Manipulative fucker."

"No more than you," said Caleb easily. "What I am going to say now is that you may be lying to yourself a little."

He wasn't about to dignify that with a response, so he just gave Caleb a look instead.

"Hey, it does take one to know one, as people might say. You say you chose to follow the Wildmother, but what does that mean, that you have to always fight? Or be alone? Caduceus is quite fine with visitors and customers and going into town every week or two, you know."

Not this again. It was enough when it was only his own voice telling him that.

"First of all, I took an oath, and second of all, I can't drag someone all over with me. You all have your own lives, and I've got mine. I'm not so selfish that I'd force someone to come with me just for company."

That got him an eye-roll of epic proportions from somewhere deep in Caleb's skull, and then a sigh.

"Fjord, you are not getting it. You have sworn to serve the Wildmother, but that does not mean you have to be sleeping rough and travelling alone through towns too fast to make connections. You could come back to Felderwin once a year, you know that. You are always welcome. Or you could spend some months in Caduceus' gardens, or accompany Beau on her missions."

"Yeah, I know—

"Yes, I _know_ you know all this, so—consider this me telling you to do what is kinder to you. Don't punish yourself for whatever it is you did not do." Caleb shook him a bit. "Ja? Have you got it?"

Funny thing, he almost felt like laughing now, though that all didn't help with the problem.

"Fine, fine, I'll send more mail. But I didn't know you even wanted to talk to me, okay?"

"For which I am sorry," said Caleb gently, rising from the bed with one last smile. "Now, I will not keep you from sleeping too much longer. Good night, Fjord."

"'Night."

They didn't really talk again that evening. Fjord just got his things together, warmed his hands by the fire and pulled the thick, slightly itchy woollen blankets up over him. Sleep was pretty quick to come, sending him walking along a beach he'd never seen. He must still have been awake for a while, or at least aware, because he remembered an indistinct whisper just before Caleb slid in next to him, bony and warmer than he should have been.

If he dreamed that night, he didn't remember.

…

He woke early the next morning, to grey-pink light pooling underneath the curtains. Caleb had pulled all the covers around him to form a sort of cocoon on the far side of the bed, which made it chilly, but easy enough to get up without waking him. It had been some time since he last roomed with someone, Jester, though before that it had been Beau, Caduceus, Caleb a few times, and far before that Molly and the crews of a few ships. Everyone had their own quirks. Jester was a bit of a cuddlebug, and always found her way over to her side. Beau thrashed and kicked like nobody's business. Deuce, of course, snored, Molly stayed up late and pranced around without putting his clothes on first, and Caleb drooled and stole the blankets.

And said things to you in the second before you fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kind words--I haven't found the energy to respond to you all yet, but I'm glad there are still people here!


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one this time!

The wet sand sucked at Caleb's bare feet, then let up as a small wave crashed against his ankles. He stood in the shallows of an unfamiliar bay, looking on past a wooden sailing skiff to the grey horizon. Far out, in the centre of the bay, a wave-lashed spire of rock stood tall, reaching up to the clouds that seemed to centre on it. That was his destination, he knew. It twisted up from a small island, barely enough to stand two people on, a hoodoo-like formation that long should have been worn at the base and felled.

A spray of salt water hit his face, which he realized had come from above and not below. It rained down on him, heavy and loud, but not cold. At least, not in the same way the waves were. He had to take the skiff before he lost all feeling in his feet, tarrying here.

Caleb stepped forward, and found his foot landed on the wooden boards of the skiff. He had moved to keep his balance, the skiff cresting taller waves some distance from shore. Why had he not worn shoes? He would have splinters in a minute, if not already, but it was too late. He had taken the vessel alone and without supplies, though how he had set off he did not know. A quick glance to the back of the skiff, a simple wooden square set on two hulls, supporting a mast and small sail, showed that the tiller had been lashed with rope to set him on course for the spire. He knew, instinctively, that the rope was hard and the knots too tight to undo with his writer's fingers. This must be wrong; they had learned while crewing the _Ball Eater_ that any knot on the tiller should hold against the wind or waves but still be changeable by hand.

It didn't matter. He was on course.

The movement of the waves was calming, lulling him into a floating kind of absence as he let his sea legs take over. All of him that was about was focused solely on the spire, dark grey, slate-like rock grown over with shrubs and creepers that were a darker and deeper green than should be here, where dry grasses and heathers grew. The rain came down on him hard and comforting, nailing each scrap of clothing that he wore to this scene. Clouds massed above the spire.

He could not say how much time had passed between his boarding the skiff and the wave slamming down on his head, forcing him forward. It was hard to breathe for several moments, which passed slowly. He looked over his shoulder as he tried to recover his breath. The shore was distant. When he looked back again to the spire, it was as distant as it had always been.

For a reason he could not name, though the water clotting his lungs and stinging his cuts may have had something to do with it, he felt like crying.

The shore was distant and the wind filled his sails. There was nothing else for it but to press on, however long it may take to reach the spire.

This time, he busied himself with the skiff as he sailed. The square was seven planks parallel to the sail, and nailed underneath were seven planks laid crosswise. A simple tiller and rudder hung off the back, and the square sail was rigged so that it could be raised and lowered, but with no fine adjustment possible short of grabbing a corner and holding for dear life.

It occurred to him that the town of Yultia should have more sophisticated boats than this, or at least could have yielded a willing partner on the skiff. Caleb was no mariner himself.

Yes, in fact, there was someone who should be here with him, but he could not remember who. It tugged at his mind like a loose tooth.

Inspecting the ship must have done the trick. A sharp shock sent Caleb stumbling backwards in the middle of a thread count on the sail. When he looked up, he saw that the skiff had bumped against the base of the spire, near a depression in the sandy shore on this side of the island. It seemed that he must step ashore.

Without really meaning to, he found himself walking up the sand to the rocky island. The creepers he had seen were woody, and pricked his feet, though they bloomed in all colours. Yellow, blue, violet, and so many orange star-shaped blossoms were crushed under his feet, set amid dark green leaves like jewels.

His feet carried him of their own accord to the other side of the island, where the face of the spire was pocked and split to form a kind of staircase, overgrown and leading up. At the top of the spire, he was sure, he would see what he needed. It would all become clear.

He reached forward, fingers closing on a rope-like strand of flowers.

…

"Caleb? You awake yet?"

Caleb muttered an automatic reply, bringing a hand over his eyes to try and convince them to open. He was in a bed. A warm bed. On a mattress. This was not his bedroll. Fjord was here. They were in no danger. There had been something urgent, though, something he had been about to do.

But, no, that was not right. He had been asleep.

"Glad to hear it," said Fjord.

Slowly, he came to the realization that he was in one of the few rooms for rent in Yultia, wrapped quite snugly in a woollen blanket. He and Fjord had been shown to a room that was shabby, but as clean as could have been possible. The mattress was far better than a bedroll but still itchy, a little, from the mix of straw and feathers inside. It gotten wet at some point in time and formed lumps, which had not been fully beaten out. Still, for a man used to sleeping on the ground, this was almost luxurious.

"I take it you're planning on getting out of bed as well," said Fjord dryly.

"No, that is a bridge too far. You will have to train the mages today. I will stay here, and think of smart things."

"They'll have to be _very_ smart things, if I'm going to let you stay there."

"I assure you, they will be. Good night."

With some effort, he rolled himself over to his other side, facing away from Fjord, and screwed his eyes shut. Oh, he did intend to get up today, but he would not be himself not to enjoy the privilege of a good sleep for a little while longer.

"Cay, it's half past nine already."

"It is nine hours and thirty-five minutes past midnight, yes."

"Which means you've already slept in." Fjord put a hand on his shoulder and shook him gently. "We're expected."

"Fjord, you cannot expect me to rise at the same time as you."

He was rudely shaken again by Fjord sitting down heavily on the other side of the mattress. There was a more-than-healthy chill in the air, he could feel it.

"And I don't. I was up two hours ago. Made myself breakfast, said my morning prayers, walked to the town hall to inform them you were exhausted and couldn't start training up again until half ten, and started on a list of supplies I'll need to buy off of Annamariya."

Caleb knew he had no legs to stand on. That did not mean he would go easily.

"All right, all right. If I forgo breakfast, I will be there in plenty of time, and you can let me just be here for twenty minutes."

"Okay." Fjord's voice was suddenly quiet. "You should have some breakfast, though."

"I am aware."

"I'll see you in a bit."

He felt the weight of Fjord's hand on his shoulder again, resting for a moment longer, then heard the click of the door and the faint creaking of the staircase as Fjord padded downstairs. Odd. He was sure he had heard every word of that exchange after he woke, the small changes in Fjord's inflection and the meaning therein, but he was also sure that he had missed something. Something important, if it was enough for Fjord to—

It hit him in the way of a poisoned dart; painful and persistent, making him twitch involuntarily in his bed. Last night he had been tired and in the throes of writing when he had let down some of his filters to let ideas flow more freely. Fjord had sat down and spoken to him, more vulnerable than he had a right to witness, and Caleb had failed to comfort him, so much so that he had outright asked him why he said _nothing._

Thinking about it made him feel sick, but now that he remembered he could not stop. Fjord had gone to bed still soaking in his despair and whatever resentment he felt towards Caleb for his unhelpful and insincere advice, while he had stared at his notebooks and been unable to make sense of them. He had only stayed up so he did not have to lie there next to Fjord and listen to his shallow breathing and his disquiet.

All that was to say, he remembered now that last night he could not help but look down on his friend, still at last, and say:

"If you'll have me, you will not be alone."

He lay there for another eight minutes, trying somewhat in vain to soak in the warmth and the content of sleep. Then, to his surprise, the footsteps came back up the stairs and the latch of the door clicked again as Fjord re-entered the room. Hurriedly, he pressed the cold skin on the back of his hand against his eye.

"Now, if you can't be bothered to get up, you have to put up with whatever you get for breakfast, and you've got to eat the whole thing. Deal?"

Caleb was sitting up before he heard the tray set down on the desk. He took a quick breath to keep some composure and started the slow process of untangling himself from the bedsheets.

"You will have no, uh, argument for me," he said. "Um, thank you, I'm sorry, I did not think—"

He hopped off the bed, but found one foot still somehow stuck in the blanket, which resulted in a few more hops on the one free foot before he stumbled forward. Fjord, for his part, grinned dryly at him.

"It's no problem. I figure if I make sure you eat now, you'll be less grumpy the rest of the day."

It would have been quite simple to smile and thank him, and to perhaps make light of it all.

"Fjord, I know I may seem a little short sometimes, but please don't take what I say to heart." Belatedly, Caleb realized he may have been sending the wrong message. "That is, I do complain about things, but I promise that I am only glad to be here. With you, I mean. Travelling with you. As in—"

"Cay. I know." Fjord cut him off for the second time. "And I care about you too, so don't worry so much."

In the time it took Caleb to put together a response, Fjord had nodded awkwardly to him and turned away. Seeing that, he decided to reach out and take his hand. His right hand.

"I'll try not to," he said. He held Fjord's hand tightly, then released it. "If you need to go now, I am sure I can find my way to the training grounds."

"Okay. Good luck with everything."

"And to you as well."

Details had stuck to Caleb's memory like flypaper for as long as he could remember, which, for that reason, was a very long time. The detail that struck him now was that Fjord had run his thumb along the palm of his right hand, free of a glove or gauntlet for the first time in days, and brushed over the scar there.

…

"Anything more that you need, Paladin?" asked Ven, Yultia's sturdy carpenter, dockworker, and jack-of-all-trades. "If not, I might be heading down for lunch. The mister's got a nice fish stew on the stove, you know. To celebrate."

"I won't keep you, then," he answered. "So thank you. You all have gone above and beyond."

"It's our town, Paladin. It's you who's gone beyond."

They had a point, so Fjord just shrugged.

"I suppose we'll see about that. Oh, and—I'll be at work here for a few hours more, so would you mind at all telling Caleb not to wait?"

"It'd be no issue. Best of luck."

With a loose wave, Ven took up the handle of a rough cart, loaded with wood and bundles of herbs, then trudged steadily through the sloping woods to town. Fjord watched them go. Fish stew. He'd had a lot of it in his day, most of it watery, some of it salty, and once—ugh, yeah, when they'd had to haul anchor quick and the only one willing to cook was a goddamned Xhorhasian—so full of lye it laid some of their crew low for days. It was only at Jester's mom's place that he'd had a good one. The region between Zoon and Nicodranas used more acid and more heat than further west, making a bright and tangy concoction that Caduceus said used some of the most valuable spice in the world.

Funny, the things you remember. It occurred to him that it might feel good to come home and have something waiting for you that wasn't two weeks old, salted, and dry.

It might feel good to come home.

He took a look around the open clusters of pine, oak, sage, and heather, paying attention to the bare spots Ven's harvest had left. They'd had to take more than was natural, but he and the Mother agreed that it was a necessary harm. This town had been here long enough that the flow of supplies was a part of the natural order here, which would keep as long as this place was safe.

Holding the thought of that in his mind, he set off toward the seashore but away from the town, singing under his breath. Nothing seemed to happen.

But in the copse he'd left, some time later, yellow shoots pushed themselves out of the ground. They grew fast. Some weeds, some of the dry species that grew best along this coast. Where Caduceus created food and fungi from the lush, rotting dead, Fjord grew hard and hardy plants from silt.

Fjord walked slowly through the thinning forest, giving each step just enough momentum to push him forward to the next foot. Whatever the crunch, he couldn't hurry this. The air was heavy enough to drink; the sea crashed on the edges of his hearing and the forest gave way to a short band of steppe. He kept his eyes fixed on the horizon even as the toes of his boots hung right over the edge of the cliffs and he looked down to see whitecaps beaching themselves on the shore.

Jester could probably convince him that the edges of the sea foam formed something that looked like a face. A wrinkled, ageless, kindly face.

Probably best to speak aloud for this one. There wasn't any other way he could get his thoughts in order.

"Mother," he said.

"I must confess, I'm getting tired. The days feel longer, the nights feel shorter, and I keep feeling…not right. I don't want to abandon the mission. But it's, uh, getting harder to go on. I want things that I'm not sure I need and that I'm not sure I even should. I don't know what to do.

"I think I'm asking you to release me. Or, I'm asking if I'm right to stop, or I'm asking you to order me to continue. I'm tired of fighting, but I don't want to break my promise.

"Thank you. For everything you've done. For keeping me here."

He stared at the waves, like he was watching for some kind of answer. That was useless. The gods didn't answer that directly unless things got dire, and besides, the Wildmother was good about things. She'd get back to him somehow.

Fjord planted his sword in front of him, bowed, and turned, walking along the shore back to Yultia.

When he crested the highest point of cliff before the land sloped down to the beach, he spotted the mages in formation, paired up and sparring in the square. A skinny figure wandered among them, stopping by one cluster or another and talking gently, then hopping off with a nod. He smiled.

For some reason, a picture of Caduceus sprang into his head, vivid enough to clutch at his chest. Sitting in the graveyard where they found him, alone, at a table set for seven. His hair was greasy and his eyes dull. Behind him, the trees were grey, twisted and rotten.

Where had that come from? Didn't matter. He knew for a fact that Caduceus got his family back long ago, and kept his garden safe and healthy.

And besides, he hadn't ever seen him there.

Sick at heart, Fjord returned to Yultia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all are lovely <3


	9. 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> all right folks, it is time to cringe

Having started so early, Caleb was able at last to wrap up his training sessions at six o'clock. It took some more time than that to extricate himself from Ivan and a few of the other younger ones, but he managed it by half the hour. They hadn't inquired too far into his personal life this time, just pestered him about all the teamwork he required from them. Typical of students, certainly. He had not lied to them, only said that they would be far stronger with well-prepared group manoeuvres than flashy solo spells.

If all went as planned this evening, he would go straight back to the inn for supper and then work on his spells for three, perhaps four hours and go to bed erly with Fjord, if only for the sake of enjoying a real, though itchy, mattress for the whole of the night.

Caleb took the time to enjoy the stroll seaward, boots tamping down the dirt still damp from last night's rain. The clouds that had been overhead since he crossed the mountains two weeks ago were shifting. He could see now the narrowest lens of clear sky, just over the west part of the horizon where the sun had now reached, glowing a glorious red and gold.

He rather had missed teaching. It challenged him. There were so many questions that were asked that he had thought he had an answer for which then—all of a sudden—required more investigation. There were tricks and quirks each student had that necessitated that he change his own techniques and consider whether they really were the best for the purpose. In teaching others, he learnt himself.

For a moment he stopped, savouring the view. With eyes so used to squinting over paper, he should be more careful than to stare straight at the sun like this.

Not that it was always a bad thing to be left to his own devices; after all, part of what had happened on this journey was that, deprived of constant and challenging new knowledge, his mind had turned on itself. You might even call what he did cannibalism, as he started to eat away at his preconceptions and desires while searching for something new to think on. Caleb Widogast of the Brenatto family and the Mighty Nein had set out from Felderwin in a fit of frustration, unable to cope with the consequences of his decisions, seeking one last taste of freedom before a new decade poured over him and, he feared, set his future down. He left to go find a friend he was sure he was now alien and to rekindle that friendship or put it to rest. He left because he felt he would otherwise be trapped.

Tearing his eyes from the horizon, he made sure to walk slowly. His sight was blotted out by patches of muddy-grey that swam about. He had looked too long.

Since he set out with that conviction, he had wondered about how much of it was true. Perhaps he had left in order to find again the joy he remembered travel brought him; perhaps to see in a new light the things that called Wildemount home. It could be that he left to do all he could in this world, so that he could finally rest and be content. Several times, in the cold and damp, he had found another new layer of appreciation for the place and people he called home.

And now, he felt a deep longing for the post of teacher he had held on and off through the years. He may have come all the way down here just to know that.

It was true, also, that the Wildmother's influence could not be discounted. That he had needed Fjord just when Fjord needed help was too big of a coincidence to be just that.

If not that the gods rarely work so neatly. 

He sidestepped a small clump of grass that had grown up in the middle of the street.

In all likelihood, it did not matter why he had come. He was here, and what he chose to do with that was now the more pressing issue. Spying on slavers and helping the people of Yultia defend themselves seemed good. It was just that…well, he was not doing all that he could.

The faded wooden door of the inn stood within sight now, and he could see a light in one window on the upper floor, looking out on to the sea.

Time to swallow down all that speculation, or else it might bubble up as he spoke and make him sick.

…

"Fjord?"

Caleb knocked once on the door to their room before pushing it open with the tips of his fingers. It was somewhat tidier than he'd left it this morning. The oil lamp on the desk was lit as he had seen, and Fjord sat at their makeshift desk before a loose pile of papers, which he quickly shuffled out of the way as Caleb entered and, in turn, he greeted him. Their positions, Caleb noted, had almost fully switched from last night. Only Fjord's cheeks were green and not muddied with a flush, and he looked good-humoured, if tired, in contrast to the sharp and awkward joy Caleb had slipped into.

"Oh, hey. I didn't expect to see you back so early." Fjord continued to move his papers out of Caleb's view, and he did not want to pry, but he did catch sight of graphite stains along his calloused fingers. "Class went well, I hope?"

"It did, ja. We started early, and they are good workers."

He closed the door behind him and lay his satchel down next to the bed, moving to the hearth to stoke the fire with some magic of his own. It would do to warm up if he planned to fall asleep early.

"Early, huh?"

Caleb caught Fjord's gentle grin, and threw him a look in return. "If you would rather I accept one of their kind offers of a meal, you need only say so."

"You know I was just kidding. They seem to have taken a shine to you; Ven was just saying their son must think you're the only wizard alive."

"Well, that is most flattering, though somewhat untrue. Who is Ven, again?"

"They're this town's carpenter, woodworker, you name it. Olin's parent."

"Ah, yes. Well, when next you work with them, you may tell them that their son is an attentive student and a clever one."

He unpacked a few of his things from the satchel, laying them out on the bed. A couple of books, writing materials, a few lengths of twine, and packages that had contained his lunch earlier.

"I will."

"Were you able to make some progress on the inventory today? I'm glad to see you are free." Caleb stumbled over his words for a moment. "Or, that did not have to stay up so late. Since that meant you had time to clean our things. Thank you, by the way."

"Yeah. Didn't take too long."

Something in his voice made Caleb change his course, drifting over to Fjord's side while taking care to seem like he was just reorganizing.

"How are you feeling, today?"

"Me? Better."

It sounded genuine, but of course, it was Fjord. Caleb put a hand on his shoulder, a reassurance, just in case.

"It's all right if you are not feeling better. I just wanted to know, if it is not too much to ask."

Fjord shrugged him off with a small smile.

"No, no, I am actually feeling better. Well, more certain. I went up to the coast to pray."

"Did you get a reply?"

"I'm not sure."

Caleb huffed a sigh, one he hoped conveyed the fond resignation he felt. This was another thing that, after all these years, he could not understand about some of his friends.

"That is gods for you, I am afraid."

A shadow crossed Fjord's face for just a minute, followed by his own cold laugh.

"I suppose I should be used to it by now, but I'm not."

"It's no bad thing, to want help and direction," Caleb said, awkwardly searching for something he might follow up with. It did not come. "You know, uh, what do you say we get some dinner? It is a bad habit of mine not to eat so much when I am busy."

"Yeah, that sounds good. Uh—"

"I can go down and bring us up a plate," he stammered on, manhandling the conversation away from the tension that hung in the room. "If you would rather not have to talk to more people."

"How'd you guess?" Fjord asked, a bit of his usual humour creeping back into his voice. Time would tell if it were genuine.

"Ah, well, I do know you, Fjord, and most importantly, I know myself as well. I will be back in some minutes, so feel free to put away your papers."

With a smile and a nod, Caleb backed out of the room and hurried down the inn's stairs to the kitchen below, feeling a nervous energy he would not name.

 _Would_ not.

He shook himself a little and settled into his professional demeanour, which he was told was both calm and charming. A pity he could not pull those things from his hat when he really had need of them. He crossed the dirt floor of the inn, nodding at the few taking their meal inside and headed to the bar, making sure to duck where the ceiling lowered. It would not have hit his head—he was aware how much shorter he stood than Fjord—but it paid to be sure.

"If it isn't. Mr. Widogast. I hear things went well today?"

Annamariya bustled up to the bar, her usual mug in hand. He bowed politely to her.

"Mm, very much so, thank you. You have a very fine group of mages here, and very fine cooks."

"Shameless flatterer."

"I have been eating dried fish and mushroom jerky for days," he insisted. "Your food could not taste finer to me."

Caleb leaned against the counter, taking care to avoid the hanging socks of garlic as Annamariya took another swig of her watery lager.

"Fair enough," she conceded. "D'you need a drink, then, or will you have your dinner early?"

"I'm here to collect some dinner, if it is not inconvenient. Fjord is an early riser and I am not so used to getting up in the morning, so we decided that it would be better to eat and sleep while we can."

He got a strange but approving look from the innkeeper and cook, who turned back into the kitchen and carried the conversation forward.

"You know what they say. Early to bed, early to rise…"

"I have heard of that saying, yes. It has often been quoted to me."

"It's no wonder to me. You know, The Paladin was just recounting to me earlier some stories about the nights you've had."

Caleb watched Annamariya fetch a large tray, three bowls, two mugs, two spoons, and a platter and put together a meal consisting of fried dumplings and onions from a pan spitting away over the fire, beetroot salad, and a large helping of yogurt. He could not help but note each detail. The mugs were filled with the same beer she drank; one of the two home-brews this place served.

"Is that so?" he asked, just barely keeping the exchange afloat. "I assure you, only half of what he says is true."

"Funny. He said the same about you."

"Then I believe that puts us down to twenty five percent."

He bowed again and took the tray as Annamariya offered it, deliberately stilling himself as the weight of their meal proved more than his arms had expected.

"So long as you're true to yourself, that's what matters, I say. Take care, Wizard."

"I will, and you as well, Miss Annamariya."

…

When Caleb returned to the room, Fjord had fully cleared his papers and left the desk empty but for the one oil lamp. Two chairs were pulled up to the small table, positioned so as not to face one another.

"From the other room?" he asked, gesturing at the set-up with the precariously loaded tray.

"Yeah. No one else is here, and Annamariya gave me the master key, just in case."

Fjord shifted in his seat, staring sideways out the window and on to the darkened sea. Now that Caleb's eyes had focused, he noted a folded sheet of paper tucked into the top of his boot.

"Ah, well, thank you." Caleb set the tray down on the table and pulled up a seat himself. "I must say that I am keen for a meal, after all that. You should have seen the quantity of butter in the pan."

"I know, I know. It'll be good for you. You need some meat on your bones."

"Not all of us are as hardy as a half-orc."

They ate mostly in silence, one that did not feel tired or awkward as before, but that was not calm either. It was as if both were on the edge of words with each mouthful they took and each snippet of small talk they spun out between them.

Then, after Caleb had pulled out his workbook and Fjord had put aside their things to work another half-finished rope, Fjord spoke, still looking out and presumably over the sea. As it was, Caleb saw only darkness.

"You don't have to do this."

"Pardon?"

Noticing a thin crease along the upper corner of his page, a sign of hasty packing, Caleb smoothed his thumb over the paper. He kept his graphite pencil tucked between his index and middle fingers.

"Don't get me wrong," Fjord went on calmly. "I'm glad you're here. Don't have to care for me like you've been doing. I'm grateful that you have, but no more. I don't expect it. You didn't come here to fight for me or to get me through a crisis of faith."

Fjord's fingers were not moving fast, but the precision they had without his sight was surprising. The beeswaxed twine was pulled smoothly and tightly into a two-strand braid, and what few times a loop did stick out here or there, it was pulled through soon after.

"Forgive me, but if I helped you in your fighting or your faith, then I am afraid I missed it completely."

A thin smile tugged across Fjord's face, stretching where it met his tusks. Caleb couldn't help but feel the warm glow of a task accomplished.

"You help more than you realize. I am serious, you know."

"Believe me, I do. So—humour me, for a moment, if you will, and tell me why I travelled here."

He set his book down fully and clasped his hands together to keep from fidgeting as he turned his eyes on Fjord, who did not do the same.

"You? Hm. To be honest, truly honest, I don't know. I can think of a few, but none stand up."

"If that is so, then you really have been alone too long. Your mind has dulled without good conversation."

"I'm serious, Caleb."

A pang of empathy spread through him. True enough, he was having the same thoughts about Fjord, though he was not ready to share them now and might not be until some while later. To show support he looked away, following Fjord's gaze out to night and leaning in. The way their chairs were set, they were not touching, but if Caleb moved his over they could be.

"I apologise, that was a bad joke. Please, you may take a guess from nowhere if you need."

"Fine," said Fjord, not sounding upset nor anything else. "You said you came down here to apologise, if I'm not mistaken. Though you haven't brought it up since, so I don't know how much of that's the truth."

That was…a little disappointing, but he supposed that was the best answer Fjord could give him, given his situation. How was he to know—

"It was not fully a lie. I am here to apologise, though I am not yet sure how to do it."

"What's the truth, then?"

"I don't know."

Fjord's hands slowed, drawing near to the end of a braid.

"It's all right if you don't want to tell me, but why'd you ask?"

"In truth, I cannot say why exactly I decided to leave. I—there are reasons that I think are true, but it came from so deep within me that it is impossible to find where it started and where it may end."

"And you don't want to share those reasons."

Caleb felt himself cringe. Fjord would be right to grow angry, for him to tease these questions out of him and give him nothing. He could not stop himself.

"Not so much that, as I am not yet ready. I am having a moment of uncertainty myself."

"Oh?"

"We are not so young any more," he said firmly, pulling himself back on track. "It is almost time now to settle down, if I am not to become a wanderer like most of our family, but there is a feeling that Felderwin is not all I want. I would be happy there. I would not be satisfied."

He expected a reply somehow, one more immediate, but Fjord took his time and he felt it better to sink into that silence than watch it pass. His legs folded under him, bracing his back better against the thin spine of the chair. Though he heard the sea and stared its way, he still could not see it. It was beyond him.

"You also said…" Fjord murmured, then trailed off. Caleb let him have the time to recollect his thoughts and speak them; or, he waited in the quiet to suck the rest of his words out of him. It was a matter of perspective.

After a moment, in which his hands clasped tightly enough to make the pale skin white, Fjord continued.

"You said you cut your hand."

It was then that he noticed Fjord's cord had been finished and tied off, and the twine strings were loose and unmoving in his fingers. His right hand lay palm-up on his lap, his left thumb placed along its centre. There would be a scar there.

"I did."

"Didn't think that story was true."

"I would not either, if I had not bled."

"Is that why you thought it might be the Mother?"

That caught Caleb off guard. He tore his eyes away from Fjord and looked back toward the sea.

"Pardon?"

"The other day, you said it could be the Wildmother that brought you down here. And the story you told me was that you set off because you cut your hand on a bramble. It's not a far leap from one to the other."

"You say that, but it had not occured to me."

Caleb stood, suddenly eager to throw off what weighed on him, though that would require more than motion. With a compact movement of his wrist, he summoned lights that were sent to skim down towards the sea as far as they were able.

"Why did you think she sent you, then?"

"As you said, you may be said to be having a crisis of faith. At the least, you had need of help, and I—" He paused, considering carefully what he might say. "I would not call it a crisis, but as I said, I had my own regrets and wonderings. It made sense to me that they would have, uh, led me to you. In any case."

He kept his eyes forward on what the lights finally showed to him outside their walls. Just a patch of worn grass sloping down to the beach, and waves pushing pebbles and kelp forward, only to pull them back in. The ocean was still out of sight. Fjord existed as a shadow on the edge of his awareness.

"Mm."

"I suppose what I am trying to say," he went on uselessly, "Is that you are as much a comfort to me as I to you. If I have done anything at all, which I have not, you said yourself. So then—let me say you are a comfort to me. That is, all of it, true."

As if against his will, moved his hand slowly in the air. The lights flickered out, a sad, pale white, then burst again into existence, this time with an orange glow. Those were wrong, too, too dry and too sickly, the colour of a wound gone bad. More quickly than the first, they were dispelled. He could not bring himself to turn back and show himself to Fjord like this, nor could he stand to look out into the darkness another second. There had to be more—!

With another dance of fingers four pale blue lights appeared, not sickening like the second but too cold. What they lit up did not seem real. The green, kindled and killed just moments later, helped with nothing. No matter. There were still more colours left to cycle through.

Just at the moment he let go of his arm, ready again to cast his cantrip, a heavy hand set down upon his shoulder. He did not look away.

"You are a comfort," Fjord said softly, now beside him. "But know that, if you say the word, I'll leave you be."

By way of reply, Caleb gripped his fingers where they were, and cast a net of golden light outside the window. His eyes must have grown accustomed to the dark, for now he could make out the silhouette of the horizon.

"What were you looking for, out there?" he asked.

"Hm?"

"Just a thought. You were quite intent on what was outside this window."

"Oh. No, nothing of the sort. It was…just hard to know what to say."

The pressure on Caleb's shoulder lightened, a suggestion of ending, but nothing more. He kept Fjord's hand pinned there.

"You were looking for escape?"

"No, I don't think so," said Fjord.

"Freedom, then."

"Maybe."

"Hah. That is funny. I think I was, too."

It was time, now, to turn from the window and step back into the warm silence that they shared, but Caleb was possessed of a thought that would not leave. He released Fjord's hand and let himself lean back on his heel into the room, waiting for the sheer terror of gravity to catch him, and then the freedom of falling.

"Wait—Caleb? Are you okay?"

He made no effort to catch himself.

Just as he tipped over the edge, Fjord caught him by the shoulders; that would be quite enough to keep him upright some moments longer.

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

The rolled eyes was quite par for the course, breaking the tension between them.

"All right, get up."

"No, it is very comfy here," said Caleb evenly, resisting Fjord's attempts to push him upright. "I might even fall asleep—oh, come on Fjord."

Against his will, he was back up on the flats of his boots, watching Fjord try to quell the smile rising on his face.

"Is there something about this funny, Paladin Fjord?" he asked, failing similarly in his control. How could he help it? Easier to shape water or blast fire than to keep a lid on the kind of warmth that rose in his chest.

"There is, but that's no thanks to you."

The lamp, on the low table still laid with dishes, cast their shadows high up on the wall and almost to the ceiling; they were as actors on the stage spotlit against the curtain behind. Fjord, especially, looked something above himself. The planes and angles of his face were outlined sharply by the light, setting his eyes to glow merrily against the darkness of his skin.

"I will not stand for such rudeness." Caleb turned away to start packing up the tray to return to the kitchen. "I am leaving you, Paladin, never to return."

"Right. Don't stay up too late."

"Certainly not past eleven thirty."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, dear readers <3


	10. 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one this time

Fjord waited until Caleb's footsteps had disappeared down the stairs to go outside; on his way, he snuck a glance at him chatting with Anna at the bar, too distracted and too tired to notice him slip out for his prayers. He didn't know why. Caleb knew his nightly rituals and vice versa. When he got back up to his—their—room and found him gone, he'd know he was just out of sight along the beach, reaching through the kelp and shellfish to his god.

Maybe it was just that he wanted to keep this feeling to himself a little longer. Something he hadn't felt in a while, the giddy joy of acceptance.

He padded over the winter grass and out a bit closer to the forest. His affinity was stretching to woods more and more these days, hell if he knew why. The Wildmother was going to be expecting a reply when he figured things out, which he hoped he had.

_Caduceus, sitting alone at a table set for seven. The forest rotted around him, and the Nein roamed just beyond his borders._

It hadn't been him who thought that or—not all of him. Maybe Melora sent him that direct, or just fished around in his head for something that fit, but with that—she had answered him. It was her answer. Deuce, bless his soul and his kindness, had kept on fighting a hopeless fight long after he saw the people he loved leave him, and for nothing. He wasn't meant to stay there brewing up his own despair. He was meant to seek help and find family. The Nein had so much need of him. _He_ had so much need of him.

Fjord stopped when he felt the sandy soil under his feet firm up, where the thinnest of the tree roots reached out and held this shore together. With the land breeze at his back and the breaking waves in his ears, he prayed again, this time silently and unconstrained by words. His question earlier had needed the time for him to sort through and dissect his own feeling, while this answer he _knew_ , in every way possible.

_Fjord, standing alone looking over the sea. The rain soaked him through to the bone, and the onslaught never ceased. A letter unopened sat in his satchel, with three unwritten._

This was how it should not be. He needed something else and something more, he needed to escape from this despair and he needed to do it himself, not wait for Jester or Beau to come and save him or for Caleb or Caduceus to force his hand; he needed to reach back into his chest and _feel_ it all. What he had feared to do for months now, feel the pain of Jester's absence or the joy in Beau's letters or Caduceus' lilting voice or Caleb…

He prayed.

Standing there, eyes wide open to witness the wild, Fjord remembered what it was like to be alive.

At his back, a wind rose, blowing towards the sea with so much force it knocked him forward. He gave into it. He stopped resisting. The wind didn't let up. It pushed him step by step on to the beach, where the waves seemed taller than they'd ever been before, and where it seemed like the only reason they hadn't flooded the town was the sheer strength of the wind. The two forces pushed against each other, whipping the waves higher and higher in front of Fjord's eyes. And then—there, he saw in the water rising like a wall to face him—

_A ship. A sail. The crash of waves. The flash of blue amid the rigging. A pale hand clamped over someone's shoulder. Jester, smiling. A clash of sword on shield. Caduceus, standing beneath a flowered archway. Nott's hands. A blazing fire. A seething storm. Caduceus kneeling over a headstone and blocking out its name, setting down a cup in front of it. A posy of forget-me-nots in Beau's hands. A looming chestnut tree, heavy with flowers. Two figures, one taller than the other but not by much, weaving a dance across a green field. The scent of salt. A fishing shack on warm waters, two children running up and down its dock, watched by a figure with long, rose-coloured hair that shone in the sunlight. His own hands, braiding red hair streaked with white. A voice in his ear. A scar across his hand._

The wave crashed down with the weight of eternity.

…

"Fjord? What happened? Are you awake? Fjord?"

Someone patted him on the cheek, twice on each side as he came to, then slapped him right across the face when his eyes failed to open.

"Hey! Hey, no need to—Caleb?"

He'd opened his eyes to see an intensely worried face. Come to think of it, he wasn't too comfortable. Something dry scratched at him through his clothes. His eyes were wet, though not as if he'd been crying. Plus, his back hurt like hell. And it was too bright.

"I am here."

He pushed himself to sitting, feeling Caleb place a hand on his back and one on his shoulder to support him.

"I'm sorry, what happened?"

"That's what I was hoping you could tell me."

As Fjord finally came to full consciousness, he looked around. He was standing where he'd come to pray, up from the beach a ways and near the forest. The light had come from Caleb's dancing lights, meaning it was night, meaning that he probably hadn't moved from where he'd stood. But then, how…?

"I think the Wildmother gave me an answer."

He let Caleb help him to his feet, keeping quiet even when he felt each point of contact stay longer than was safe. When Fjord was standing, he kept his arm looped through his, like he could support him if Fjord had a turn and fainted again. Oh, Caleb. He never knew his limits.

"Ah. Was it what you needed?"

"Probably."

"And was it what you wanted?"

Fjord looked away from the sea and turned to Caleb. The man never did do a good job at hiding his emotions, even if he did refuse to explain them.

"Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, I think so. Not everything. But most of it. How long have I been…out?"

"Not long," Caleb said. It was clear it had been too long for his comfort. "I waited forty minutes after I returned to our room, and then I set out to find you."

After a long, long moment, Fjord figured he didn't have much to lose by clasping Caleb's hand where it rested on his arm.

"I'm sorry I worried you. Truly."

Sure enough, that was too much eye contact for Caleb to handle. He looked away, tugging them forward.

"Well, the important thing is, it was nothing. We should head back. It's nearly time to sleep."

"You're right, it is."

The two of them made their way unsteadily back up the shallow slope to the inn, sitting just a little ways from the sea. You could still see lamp shining in one of the upper windows, meaning Caleb must have kept it on for studying. If that were the case, he wouldn't be thinking of sleep for another hour at least.

"You still working on the same spells?" he asked. "The practical ones?"

It was an innocent question, but Caleb took his time in answering.

"No," he said at last. "Though I planned to sometime this night."

"Can I ask what it is you're working on, then?"

"I am, uh, I am writing a letter to Jester."

Now it was Fjord's turn to try and find an appropriate reply. For all Caleb's surprising…vulnerability was the only word for it, since they'd reunited, he still hadn't truly been honest about what it was they'd fought over. His stuttering when the question of her and Beau came up earlier wasn't the only thing that made Fjord it had something to do with that. Jessie was, well, she was hard not to love.

"May I ask why?"

If Caleb noticed he kept asking for permission, he didn't say.

"It—it is nothing. We are to see her in three days, and I can speak to her." Caleb's hands started to crawl over one another, fidgeting like he always did.

"You just want it down in writing, so there's no way you can say it wrong, if she's not up to talking," Fjord filled in.

"Should I ask how you know?"

"Been doing the same myself."

They walked on without saying much after that. Caleb moved on from his usual fidgeting to the on-and-off cantrips he'd been doing while they had their talk in the bedroom, flashing green and blue and yellow all over them. A couple of times, he tried pink, staring at the lights with such concentration that he didn't notice Fjord watching him. Pebbles and grass stalks crunched under their boots as they circled around to the front door.

"Getting more used to the magic?" he asked, starting up conversation again. It was easier now.

"Pardon?"

"You said you got sick of it, the other day. That's why you were using the lamps."

"Oh, yes. I suppose."

And that was that. Caleb extinguished the light with a closed fist as they neared the inn's door. From there, they greeted Anna and walked up in lock step. Fjord knew, and more than that, he trusted that things were different after tonight.

Caleb had slipped through his fingers too many times to count. At the very beginning, when Fjord had panicked and raised his sword, and on and on. Watching each other in the swamp and desperately trying to reach out. Spilling his guts out over the table, while Caleb and Beau just looked on with pity. Locking eyes just before he went and sunk his own wants and wishes deep under the ocean, drowning out anything in him that protested as Avantika took away what he had left. _Do what you have to_. He did do that. If it was that or lose Jester, Beau, Caleb, Deuce, Yasha, Nott, each one of them was worth more than what he wanted and didn't.

Not for the first time, he had wondered what Caleb meant. Later on, he found out that he hadn't exactly understood what was going on, but that he'd been there before, in Fjord's place, with no real choice but to obey.

From there, he'd done everything in his power to keep them alive. To keep Caleb alive and he—he'd thought for a time that the feeling was returned. Maybe it was. Before he spent his magic running to save Caleb, it was Caleb who protected him. But it was him who promised Caleb something dear, and Caleb who never talked of it.

What all that was to say, was that each time he thought he knew Caleb, each time he felt the dawn of understanding that didn't dispel the love he felt but made it clearer, it all went to pieces. Didn't matter. He'd done as bad to Jessie, and, in hindsight, to Deuce. Caleb wasn't at fault for what Fjord failed to tell him. He'd been a friend. And now, for the first time, Fjord wasn't alive with fraught anticipation. He trusted in Caleb, he trusted in this. He didn't need to know more. He didn't dare ask.

Caleb was here, by his side, and he wanted to stay.

That was enough.

Or, it would be.

They reached the top of the stairs after about ten years, if Fjord's trip down memory lane was anything to go by. He let Caleb go first, into the bedroom, so he could clean up his things or at least hide them. Waiting there for the door to open, he heard the shuffling of paper. It was slower and more deliberate than you'd expect. He must have been reading some of it before he put it away, with the kind of pitying fascination you could only hold for your younger self. Even if said self was just a half hour greener.

"You don't have to wait." Caleb's muffled voice filtered through the door after a few minutes.

"Just thinking," Fjord said by way of reply. It wasn't a lie.

"Very well, but it is warmer in here."

Now that, it made him smile. Caleb, cracking jokes, to him. Something that had been ordinary for years of his life, and was ordinary again. Mundane, banal, you name it. There was so much to love about the normal.

"Fine, if you want me so much."

He listened for the derisive little snort Caleb sometimes gave, but even though the door was thin he didn't hear it.

From there, they went about their tasks. Fjord decided to get the knots out of his hair, since he had the luxury of Caleb's hand mirror. Caleb did his own thing, shuffling through his things and getting out more books than you'd think would fit in the pack of a travelling man. It wasn't long before Fjord was laid out underneath their blanket trying to get to sleep and Caleb was hunched over his work by the dim light of the lamp. This routine suited them pretty well.

And, true enough, when Caleb snuffed the lamp out, lowered the fire in the hearth, and slipped in beside him, he said something. But Fjord was bone tired, and he'd fallen asleep long before.

It didn't matter much anyway.

…

Fjord woke with the dawn.

It was what he'd always been used to. In the Driftwood Asylum, every working hour that didn't have to be lit by candles was something to be taken advantage of. On the _Tide's Breath_ , you wanted to get in as much work as you could before the air got hot and sticky. With the Mighty Nein, every hour spent sleeping was a risk that Fjord didn't want to take, not after what happened with the Shepherds. And now, these past few years, he got roused by the seabirds. It wasn't something he knew for sure, but he felt like his powers picked up at dawn and dusk and settled down a bit towards mid-noon.

Whatever the reason, he fell out of the dreams he might have had and opened his eyes when some gull or another screamed outside the window.

Thank the Mother Caleb was a heavy sleeper these days. He managed to get himself out from the bed without jostling him too much, then pulled on his boots and a jerkin and wandered out to wash his face in the barrel 'round the back. As he padded down the stairs, sticking right to the edges to keep them from creaking, he took his usual mental stock. He felt a little sleepy and his joints were stiff from chopping wood and hauling supplies this past day, but his legs didn't ache and he hadn't torqued anything too badly. It was just that he wasn't used to carrying those kinds of loads.

The inn's door closed with a low groan behind him, and from the dew on the grass, it looked like he was the first up today. The sky north and east over the town was deep blue fading to pink, while the southwestern horizon was almost red. Not a bad sunrise. The clouds may not do much for the look of the day, but they helped smear out the light like paint when the sun was on the edges of the world.

Just looking out towards the sea, he mouthed a quick prayer. Always important to say 'thank you.'

Then, he trudged towards the town side of the inn, shaded and far cooler, and took the cracked lid from the rain barrel. No ice on the top, thankfully, but it was fucking freezing to the touch. Now that was a real wake up call, nothing like the gulls that were chattering and diving overhead to catch the last few bugs before they scattered for the day.

With a quick grimace, he held the barrel by both sides and plunged his head into the water. As with last morning, he couldn't stifle his gasp.

"Shit."

He kept his head down for a second longer than he felt he could, then came back up and shook himself off like a dog.

"Gods dammit. Shit. Okay, that is cold."

Talking to himself wasn't so odd, when there was no one else to hear it. Honestly, it helped clear out your head. Once you spoke it, a thought existed in the world. It wasn't some weird amorphous mass of uncertainty any more. Of course, you could speak a lie, but even then, you knew it was a lie.

Without company, he'd taken to talking less and less, and talking to himself when it got to be too much. The thing about talking to yourself was, there was no real reason to lie.

He ran a hand through his hair, still frayed and greasy from a few years of poor care. It could probably do with a good comb. He'd leave it loose for a while longer, until Caleb woke up, just to let it dry out. Keeping too wet in winter wouldn't give him the same sickness as a human or a halfling would get, but it would feel bad. Simple as that.

"Three days," he said absently.

Caleb said his students would need another two weeks to learn as much as they would at the end of the morning, and Beau and Jester had made good time around the cape with her spells and Beau's limitless talents. Apparently, Expositing needed her to be all things at all times. She'd told some stories at the last get-together about trips down the canal system and over mountains, as well as about months spent in the Imperial Court.

Anyhow, all that was to say that Caleb heard they were close now, no more than a week away. The ship they'd commandeered belonged to the raiders—how Beau had taken down a ship full of pirates by herself was a story he was waiting to hear in person—so Cay had decided to sail up to meet them rather than let them berth in Yultia. The guild ships might spook, and if any raiders had run across them, they might get cocky.

If all went to plan, they'd meet in three days. While Caleb was finishing his lessons today, Fjord would ready a rough sailing skiff he'd borrowed yesterday, off of a small family whose one free and able-bodied sister had taken a few arrows as she rushed the boat back to town during the first attack. It was lucky she'd survived long enough for Fjord to help heal her; it would be some time until she'd sail again. After the battle was finished, they had found her leg would have to be rebroken and set again to heal properly, which the few clerics there could handle, but which would take some time to recover from. She'd have to rebuild the torn muscles and strengthen them enough to support the weaker part of the bone.

The skiff would be strained for the journey up the coast, but with their spells combined and Fjord's experience, they could handle it. They'd stick to the shoreline where they could and drag it ashore for nights.

Three days. Two nights. If they were right about the timing, but Caleb was good with that kind of thing.

Fjord walked back around the inn and along the grass, trying to find the spot last night where he'd prayed. The dew from the grass soaked into his boots, stippling the edges with a darker brown but not sinking through the inner layer of bark and waxed cloth.

The Wildmother had shown him the future last night. _A_ future. What it was, who it concerned, that wasn't so clear, but she'd been telling him something. There was a future for him that wasn't this one. No—the future he'd seen _was_ this one, but it wasn't the one he'd seen for himself.

Fjord's life was defined across decades by leaving. His parents left him in Damali. He left Damali for the sea. Vandren left him by the shore and left him his powers, and he left Vandren behind for the Nein and the promise of Soltryce. Then, he'd promised himself that he'd leave the Nein, if they took him away from his search. Uk'otoa had left him, and he'd returned the favour. Last of all, he'd left the Nein, left Beau and Caduceus, left Caleb for the shores of the sea. And Jester had left him.

When he left people, he didn't often come back. When people left him, they never did.

This was the choice the Wildmother offered him. The choice to come back. Caleb came back. _Caleb_.

He had been so sure, so certain, not with any fervent passion but just with the simple knowledge of fact that Caleb had forgotten him entirely. Fjord had to have been a shadow in the corner of his thoughts. What he had to have remembered was his rival for leadership, his rival for Jester, his worst threat and the person he forced himself to trust with everything, not the simple sailor Fjord.

He had been so sure.

Was a time he'd always return to the Nein, and they'd come for him. That time had come again.

He wasn't certain of it.

But, it was that uncertainty that clued him into it. Faith, Caduceus had taught him, was about uncertainty. What was the point of believing in something you knew would happen? Sacrificing every bit of power he had and embracing his fear was what brought him to Melora.

So he was here. He wouldn't put it past Caleb for this to be just a way to distract himself or reconcile with Jessie. He wouldn't put it past himself for these feelings just to be some half-assed justification for giving up. Accepting all that, he believed in the future the Mother had shown him. He believed in a garden, a ship and a crew, in forget-me-nots and Jester smiling at him and the Clays. Whether or not—wherever Caleb stood in that future, he would find it.

He believed in the scar that hadn't faded.

"Thank you," he said honestly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't want to give too much away, but I want 2 clarify that Caleb has never once felt genuine romantic feelings for Jester specifically, nor has ever wanted a romantic relationship with her. Cast members be damned, I'm working with main text canon
> 
> Thank you all! You keep me going :D


	11. 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, your comments keep me going! We're approaching an end, but who knows where this will go

"Good, good, very good."

Caleb kept his voice level as he walked the line of mages, keeping an eye on their stances and watching carefully for any sign of fatigue. In this morning before he and Fjord set sail to form their party, he was testing his students to see how they might hold up if…the worst were to pass before the Nein could do their part. Those who could control water were arrayed as close to the sea as was possible while still maintaining some form of cover, tasked with forming a current in the bay that would keep a large ship at bay for hours.

The system was not so simple as it may seem; all but the most talented grew tired after a part of an hour, and multiple mages at once were required to guard the cove in its entirety. More than that, each mage's capabilities were different and interdependent. The barrier would have to be unbroken and unfailing even under heavy fire.

What Caleb had hoped would suffice were rotating groups of compatible mages, ones whose powers could reinforce each other rather than just adding on, extending the spell duration over a wider area. Backup rosters of functional but less ideal groupings waited in the wings, ready to come to the fore should any mages be seriously injured or killed. Two or three teams should be able to control all the water in the bay for the time it took a team to recuperate between castings.

So far, his theory held, and Ivan's team had even maintained their wall for half an hour, an impressive feat. What weighed upon his mind was the slim margin for error. Though he had given them as good an education as he was able in this time, it would not be a surprise to him were some of the mages to panic when their lives were at risk, or to fail in their spells whether through fear or through exhaustion.

The secondary groupings had held well when tested earlier, but once the closely-woven web of spells was broken, by a mage failing or a mage falling, their defences would become weaker in an exponential pattern and continue to become so in a vicious cycle, until at last the water was released and the town was left unguarded but for a few archers and vulnerable mages. Or so he feared.

Eyes scanning the horizon for irregularity, Caleb came to a halt behind one of the fishergirls, a tall half-orc with some water genasi heritage by the sheen on her skin and the range of her spells.

"Priscilla, could I ask you to release your spell for two minutes?"

"Sure, Mr. Widogast."

She lifted her hands and extended the first two fingers on her right hand, holding her left palm flat at a right angle to the ground, fingers pointing up in front of her . Then, she moved her right hand down smoothly, as if she were cutting a string. A long section of the water barrier faltered almost immediately, the crest of the wave falling by two feet, enough, perhaps, to provide a weakness.

"Should we keep it up?" asked Tarquin, a follower of the Wildmother and one of Priscilla's partners. The other, another elemental mage, was totally focused on the spell.

"You and Karol will restore the strength of your spell. It is not so bad if you cannot, but please try."

Testing them like this wasn't ideal in such a severe situation, but it was because of that situation that Caleb needed to know their strengths. If Priscilla, like Ivan, could generate the power on her own to match a group of others, she would need to be ready and willing to unleash that power, not tied up with a group.

He walked on down the line a bit so as not to put too much pressure on Karol and Tarquin, but kept a close eye on their section of it. They had recovered half a foot, maybe more, he could not tell precisely at this distance, but it took effort for them to find a new equilibrium. After the full two minutes, the difference in strength between the sections of the barrier was not apparent to the naked eye, but the glow of magic over it was paler. Damn.

Rather than double back, he sent a message to them both to test their concentration. If this was not the sum of all their power, then it would do, but if they could easily be knocked out of it, Priscilla would have to join them again.

" _Priscilla, please move to the far western end of the line, and once you are there please do what you can to create a whirlpool just beyond the barrier, if you will._ "

" _Are you sure?_ "

" _I am still testing the options available to us. Once we know your capabilities, and should an attack come, you may make the final decisions on what to do._ "

" _Right._ "

He continued along the line, thinning it out in places and testing the weak points he could see. There was no need to be so thorough, in all likelihood, but the chance existed that he was nowhere near thorough enough.

The wave barrier held, though. That was good. He watched it curl away and over on itself, hopefully in a manner that would keep small items like people or arcane objects trapped in a cycle on the its other side.

Which reminded him, he had stationed one of the town's young women on a cliff to test this theory with a few pieces of driftwood.

" _Jana, what have you found?_ "

" _I dropped in a few logs. Most of them keep sinking and floating up in the same place, like you said. A few of them got through, though._ "

" _Thank you for the information. You may return if you wish, though it would be useful to see if any more make it through with time._ "

" _Hey, I'll stay here. Don't much like doing real work._ "

" _A good answer_."

So that was a mixed success.

He walked further, checking on the final two groups before reaching the eastern end of the defensive line.

"How's it going, Mr. Widogast?"

Ivan had no trouble with his spells, and was skipping stones on the waves as Caleb came to a halt behind him.

"It's going well, thank you. You are a very talented group, and you have done admirably in these circumstances."

"Yeah, we are. How are we really doing?"

Caleb rolled his eyes. There was one of them in every class.

"You can check me for honesty, though I doubt you have the spell. You have all put up a strong and comprehensive defence. I hope that some of your fellow students might be able to stretch themselves more without overexerting, but we shall see. To have accomplished this much is something."

"Thanks, Mr. Widogast."

The halfling boy grabbed another stone, barely flat at all, and threw it over the water with such speed that it was forced to skip once.

"I will brief you all after this, but it may be that I ask you and Priscilla to be prepared to break off from the barrier and focus your abilities on offensive spells. Specifically, I may ask you both to try your best to kill. You are free to refuse. Murder is…not always the most efficient option."

"But sometimes it is, right?"

"Sometimes."

Either Ivan noticed the implication, or he was just bored of skipping rocks. He started pacing, kicking up stones with his feet and digging little holes in the sand where there looked like there might be shellfish.

"Well, I don't have a problem with it. If someone's trying to hurt us."

"You are absolutely certain?" Caleb asked sharply.

"Yep. I mean, I've heard it messes you up, but that's because you're still alive to be messed up." Ivan shrugged. "More or less, we've got to do what keeps us alive, right?"

Caleb found himself needing to move as well and scrape off the discomfort that his memories brought him.

"Yes. It is not always that simple, though."

"I don't think so. If you're alive, you're alive, and if you're not, then that's it."

To keep himself there and not let himself go back to his youth, Caleb sat down on a small patch of undisturbed pebbles and kept his hand in his pockets, fingers tucked inside his fists to keep them warm.

"What is that saying? From the mouths of babes comes wisdom?"

"Hey, I'm fourteen. I just look young because your hair's already white."

"That is a very offensive remark, young Ivan," said Caleb, deadpan, flicking his fingers in a sending cantrip. "Fjord, could you come here?"

Ivan slumped down beside him, now picking at the hangnails on his fingers.

"What's the Paladin got to do with this?"

"I asked him for some help with your training, once he had finished readying our boat."

"Oh. Cool."

"Is there anything more you would like to talk about?"

"Nah, I'm good."

Caleb nodded, and said nothing more. The water barrier was more consistent, now.

A few minutes passed, Caleb watching the sea and Ivan inventing various amusements for himself. Then, the sound of Fjord's heavy footsteps came down the beach.

"Hey, Paladin!"

"Morning, Ivan. How's your mom doing? All healed up, I hope."

Hah. The precocious little thing had immediately straightened up.

"Mama's doing fine," said Ivan. "I'll tell her you asked. She's got a crush on you, I'm pretty sure."

"I won't tell your dad if you don't."

"Deal."

Fjord bowed over-formally, then turned to Caleb, smiling inexplicably and swaying just a little as he stepped. He extended his right hand, which Caleb took, and pulled him to his feet. It seemed that he had failed to properly dry his hands after his nautical activities earlier, or it might have been that Caleb's were just sweaty.

"You called?"

"We could do with some banishing, if you are all ready and up to it."

"Sure. Ivan, would you mind if I moved you into a demiplane, just for a few minutes?"

Ivan's face screwed up in confusion, though he didn't seem disturbed at all.

"I guess? You'll get me out, right?"

"I promise," said Fjord cordially. "We just need to surprise the others here, see how they react. If one of you gets injured or knocked out, you may not make much noise. They'll have to react pretty fast."

Ivan did smile at that. "Tell me how they do without me."

"Will do."

Fjord let go of Caleb's hand and whispered something, summoning a small ball of divine energy, and pulled a slice of beetroot from his pocket.

"Aw, gross," was what Ivan managed to get out before he disappeared.

In an instant, the easternmost portion of the barrier collapsed. Faint shouts were heard down the beach, and there seemed to be some activity among the mages. Time would tell if it was problem-solving or just panicking.

"An object distasteful to the target?" Caleb asked dryly.

"Dropped by his mom's place for supplies," answered Fjord. "I've got some chalk for Pris, if you want her out too."

"No, I'm looking to see how she reacts, in particular. Ivan is talented, but I believe she may be the best chance for survival in an emergency."

"I see your point."

With nothing more to be said that could be, they stood together and watched what played out. There was some scrambling in the immediate vicinity, as the two teams next to Ivan deputized members to plug up the gap. This resulted in those teams' sections weakening, and a lower barrier being erected where Ivan's had fallen. Not bad. However, the trick was for the group to realize that they needed to reorganize into teams as close to primary or secondary as possible, which would require a little more shuffling.

This, too, panned out. After fifty seconds of confusion, a team further down the line sent out a member to switch with the temporary eastern team, restoring a more balanced team makeup. Not quite ideal, but good enough.

"You know," said a voice behind Caleb which did belong to Fjord, but which took a moment to register as such, "Every time I think I know all the tricks you've got, you pull off something even better."

Compared to the job of teaching a town full of fishermen and the occasional woodworker to fight, Caleb was significantly underprepared for Fjord's effusive honesty. He was saved from having to come up with a reply by the sudden reappearance of Ivan, though unfortunately he had still had time to turn a rather vivid red, he was sure.

"Ah, Ivan. Thank you for agreeing to this test, it was, uh, very helpful." Caleb swallowed hard and pressed on. "They all managed to recover, so it may be that you can, uh, peel off in a fight to go on the offensive, if need be."

The boy just squinted at him, and grinned in a self-satisfied way. Brat.

"Sure. But they weren't as good as me, right?" he asked, turning to Fjord.

"Can't say. I'm not a real mage. But, they did take a good minute to recover."

"We should really go down to Tarquin and Karol to check on their progress," said Caleb. "We should be done soon. Ivan, thank you."

"Take your time. I can keep this up for a while."

Caleb nodded briskly at the boy, willing him to say nothing, and quickly turned on his heel, marching off toward the other end of the line. Fjord followed him without comment.

…

"So," said Fjord.

"So," replied Caleb.

At least he was more in the mood for talking now.

"You all right?" Fjord asked. "You seemed a bit worried, earlier."

Answers from Caleb weren't always quick to come, so he busied himself with checking the few knots they needed on the skiff. The deck was fairly flat, broad enough to fit them and their bedrolls if the need came, but it was going to be pretty cramped. They had a bundle or two of food and another of arrows, enough for an emergency, though neither of them was anything of an archer. Apart from that, their travelling supplies pretty much covered what they needed. Caleb always carried enough on him to fuel heavy spells, and, short of any new information coming their way, the plan was still to rendez-vous and stop by Zoon to drop Beau and Jessie's passengers and grab some specialized equipment.

Fjord tugged on the rope he'd used to tie down the tiller, checking to see that it was secure and none too tight. What supplies they'd forgotten, the Mother could provide. Besides, there wasn't enough to have forgotten much anyway.

As for the rest of it, they weren't yet out of the cove. They would need to adjust their direction westward within the hour. The sail was taut, the air was cool, and Caleb had Sent word ahead of them that they'd left on time.

There wasn't much else to do.

"Oh, yes, sorry."

He kept on avoiding contact as he waited for the answer, not just the reply. Maybe Caleb would buy it as him testing the wind direction, or assessing the strength of the currents.

But nothing came.

Rather than read too much into it—

"Do you remember what I asked?"

From where he was perched on the bench, Caleb gave him a wan smile.

"I am trying very hard," he said, "But no."

Fjord let the tension run out of him with a sigh. Things were all right, then.

"I was just asking if you were all right. You seemed—you _seem_ distracted."

He took a coil of rope from the bench and moved it aside, making a place for himself beside Caleb.

"I would."

"Anything I should worry about?"

"No," Caleb said, and there was conviction in it. "I can't put a name to it, but it is nothing bad. I am sure of it."

Careful not to let the motion of the boat knock him askew, Fjord leaned back on to the travel packs which they had set upright in the stern, for easy access.

"I'm glad to hear it."

This day was grey again, but not entirely. The clouds sat overhead like a lid on the world, but a thin band of blue sky showed, tied around the horizon to the south and west like a ribbon. Maybe it would spread; most likely it wouldn't. Even at sea, the weather in the south was stationary. You didn't get the wild shifts that came around near Felderwin, when the wind blew over from the Xhorhas coast, or even the constant stream of systems that marched over the Empire's plains.

He breathed out, not waiting for anything to be said. It was time to let Caleb come to him.

Coldwater fish, come down for the winter from Empire waters, snapped up plankton and minnows in the bay, though there would have been more of them further out. Seabirds had gathered around the shores, leaving in shifts to collect what they could. Far out and far below, long ropes of kelp swayed with the currents. Not here, but one day, a seal might lope between them, searching for the fish that crowded its length and the hard-shelled creatures that crawled about their roots. Even on their skiff, a fragment of a patch of barnacles had started to grow. He'd have to take care of those. A scrap of mold was crawling its way across the last piece of bread Caleb had forgotten in his pack. The simplest thing, but still alive.

"Are you happy?"

Fjord came back to this place like he was rising from the deeps, pushed up by the air in his lungs into another world.

…

"I'm sorry?"

"No, it's—" He heard Caleb breathe in. "I asked if you were happy."

Fjord didn't move. The boat rocked with the waves.

"Did Beau say something?" asked Fjord, features setting in an unreadable stare.

"No," said Caleb quickly, "No, I did not hear that you had been doing anything other than well."

"Why are you asking, then?"

"It is an important question." He smiled helplessly. "I thought, if I am going to see you, you will give me a better answer than anyone else."

"Right."

Fjord shuffled a little, rearranging himself where he sat, fiddling with the edges of cloaks and scarves and belts here and there to make sure nothing pulled too tight. The discomfort he felt likely wasn't something that could fix, Caleb knew, since he felt it himself, prickling along his skin

"Well, yes," said Fjord. "I am happy. That's not to say there aren't things I wouldn't change, like you heard, but right now…"

The words were tinged with a kind of sky-blue sadness, but Caleb knew very well that that was not the same thing as unhappiness. He himself was happy, the happiest he'd ever been, perhaps, and yet it was still a keen and aching sorrow that went with him.

"And will you keep yourself happy?"

"Pardon?"

Sadness, yes. Quite distinct from the despair Fjord had spoken of, but not separate.

"Will you do what will make you happy?" he pressed on.

"I believe so." 

There was nothing in Fjord's voice to tell him whether that was true.

"I am glad," Caleb said. He put his hand to his chest, undoing the top of his coat so that some of the heat in him might dissipate.

"Is that all?"

"How do you mean?"

"I've been away a while" said Fjord slowly, cautiously or reluctantly, perhaps.

"We have each been away from the other."

Caleb leaned closer to him, twisting to face him, though Fjord still looked away.

"Your curiosity…" Fjord continued, "It can't have just stopped. Is that truly all you want to know?"

"Hah, well, you know me."

Finally, Fjord met his eyes, though he still could not read what was there.

"I want to know a great deal," Caleb continued. "That is simply the thing that I needed."

"Then ask away."

Fjord was smiling again at him, not grinning, smiling. And how oddly.

"May I?" Caleb tested.

"Sure. I've given you the run-around plenty. I probably owe you some easy answers from way back."

A swift wind saved Caleb from answering, knocking a wave into them that swayed both sideways and back. Fjord caught himself, of course, but Caleb was walking so much in his own head that he nearly bowled over, only just catching on Fjord's now-outstretched arm.

"Hey, calm down there," Fjord joked. "You don't have to ask, if you don't want to."

"Don't get the wrong idea," he replied. "I need time to think of something."

Where to start? If they were to be trapped together for this day and two after, it would not do to get right back into the heavy, and truth be told, there was so _much_ Caleb wanted to say and to ask, that he had thought about and tripped around _each and every time_ he was alone with his thoughts here. But where to start? How was Fjord? He would not answer that with anything more than "doing well" or "fine," so really, he needed to be specific.

"Take as long as you need."

The gust and wave had knocked some of their supplies around, which Fjord rose to go straighten. Caleb watched him check the knots again that he had tested minutes earlier, rounding what was left of their small skiff in some attempt to relieve the awkwardness.

It was a kind gesture, one of so many.

Now, back to the task at hand. He needed to know facts that Fjord could give him, but this was no mere conversation, it was—he had to work for this, and not expect it to fall into his lap. To know Fjord was something Fjord himself had not yet found.

"How can you talk to the Wildmother?" Caleb asked abruptly. "Is it still…how you have always been, or does she talk with you like the Traveller?"

He rearranged himself more comfortably on the bench, wedging himself right into the corner with his feet braced up on a crate in front of him.

"The Mother? Same as always, I guess." Fjord seemed to catch himself, eyes flickering to the side. "Well, most of the time. She's been more direct of late."

"Last night?" he pressed.

"I suppose I did say I'd answer. Yeah, she told me something. I think."

His short routine finished again, Fjord settled down just behind the mast now, grabbing a haversack to lean against and folding his legs up under him in a way that would have fit a younger man. He never was comfortable with his age.

It did not escape Caleb's notice that this way they could see each other, him above and Fjord below.

"She is like a mother, then," he said, his pale attempt to keep up the lightness of this talk. "She expects you to know what she wants, and when you fail she gets short."

"Maybe."

They were approaching mid-noon at a clip now, near to the hottest and brightest part of these grey days, but there was a little bit of brightness around the horizon that kept the sky off of his shoulders for now.

"How do you know where to go? Your sense of direction has been quite uncanny."

"It depends. I feel it."

More likely Fjord knew not how to answer than that he was lying. Caleb gave him a smile just to be sure.

"Ah, that is why gods were never my domain."

"You being nothing but direct yourself, you mean?" teased Fjord.

"I do not conceal, I deflect. There is a difference."

"Yeah. I know. You don't have to."

That last bit was said hastily as Caleb went to put his hands in his pockets again, to make sure that he would not show his nervous movements.

"I'm told it can be distracting."

"If I'm distracted, you'll just ask me again."

"You are not wrong."

Now it was Fjord's turn to restrain himslef, though he didn't seem so aware of it as Caleb was, clenching his hands into fists and folding them in his arms.

"So, what's next?" he asked.

"Give me just a minute…"

Caleb kept his eyes pinned to the front, taking in sometimes Fjord and sometimes the grey-blue ocean, both shifting perpetually. They existed in motion—they _were_ motion. Where Beauregard was the sharp vitality of air and he the fickleness of fire, Fjord was the thrall of the depths.

"Do you ever eat good meals? I myself am very much sick of dried fish already."

A tension that he hadn't noticed relaxed again as Fjord laughed.

"Sometimes. You caught me when I was being careful, but most days I've got more time to cook, or I eat with someone. Which reminds me, who's doing the cooking these days, with you? 'Deuce says you still come by."

"We do, as often as we can," Caleb said ruefully. "When it is just the four of us at home, we rotate. He has been teaching me some things, but truth be told it is not enough to be a substitute."

"Hah, you don't need to tell me."

The conversation went from there. After forging the first few minutes into—to continue the metaphor—the ice floe-crowded waters of full honesty, the flow of words was almost free again, wandering from cooking to shopping to wildflowers and tea, back around to Luc's education and TJ's training, the daily happenings in Felderwin, Fjord's campaigns against the slashing and burning, even Caleb's work and classes. Simple things. Anecdotes about precocious students or those more quiet ones, those entirely ordinary but for the fact that they were individuals. They talked— _finally_ , they talked like old friends who had not seen each other in years.

In this moment, he was perfectly happy. But it would not last forever, nor would he remain as he was now forever. He had thought Felderwin could be forever. He had thought that he knew better than Jester. Things would always change.

He would have to change with them. As he had asked of Fjord, he must choose to be happy, or choose to let go.

The sea stretched ahead of them as the boat cleared the narrow mouth of the cove.

It had no end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still haven't forgotten the circa 2014 'it's a metaphor' meme
> 
> Thank you all for reading <3
> 
> Hope these times are going as well as they can, and that, if they're not, we all at least survive!


	12. 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another short one, since that's how it breaks up! Things will slow down after this, since I'm nearing the end of what I had already written and the end of the story in general. Hopefully we'll be finished by June? See how it goes

"I didn't know what to do with it, you see, so I just…said what came to mind, and they seemed all right with it. They didn't stick around for much longer, but they told me they were happy. Even gave me some silver."

Fjord had stumbled awkwardly through the story of his first marriage, which he was pretty sure Caleb had heard before at some reunion or another, but he'd rather chalk it up to his own failed memory when Caleb was smiling like this.

"Well, I'm sure they shall always remember you," he affirmed. "Their knight in shining armour, yes?"

"Young couples don't always last too long, you know."

"Still, it's too good of a story for them not to tell. Some paladin, a handsome stranger, marrying you before your god and then covering your escape."

Things were growing dark, so Fjord regretfully had to pick himself up off the deck and start steering them sideways, into a cove Caleb had scoped out with farsight. In the house since they'd left, he'd spent a bit of magic on something to drink. If Melora had shown him those things for the reason he thought, she wouldn't mind. Take away the danger, the desperate circumstances, and the years of things left unsaid, it was what an evening between friends should be.

He grabbed the wineskin for one last swig, shoved the stopper back in, then tossed it to Caleb. He completely failed to catch it and scrabbled to grab it from the deck.

"Maybe."

"Were there any more, after that?"

"Weddings? Not many, but a few. Mostly under the same circumstances, but to tell you the truth, I try not to."

"Hah, so it's a bad habit."

"It's not that, it's just, I'm not a cleric. I…go where I'm sent. Do what I need to."

He picked at the rigging with his claws, prying loose a knot so he could tie back the sail. For the final stretch, he'd have to hold it himself, but he may as well save himself the effort for now.

"You're more than that. You have a very nice accent, for one."

"Didn't you always like my old one better?"

"It was very hot, certainly, but beauty is, you know, in its meaning. Beauty is on the inside, that's the expression. I should very much like to be married by you, at any rate, and so would many others, I am sure."

The booze had clearly hit Caleb's system harder than his, so Fjord knew he shouldn't read much into it. Other than that it would do Caleb some good to relax. For the first time, at least since he'd come here, it looked like he wasn't walking under a weight. He shouldn't read too much into the circumstances. There was no reason to.

He hadn't lied to Caleb when he'd said he was happy.

"Stay in contact, and maybe I'll oblige. Say, have you been to any weddings, these past few months? I know there was 'Deuce's cousin, a while back, and then Tori, but that was a while ago."

"As luck would have you," said Caleb, getting to his feet more steadily than Fjord expected, "Some of my older students were married this year. Their families had not been strong at the end of the war, so they both spent much time rebuilding and had no time for school. When they graduated they were into their twenties, I recall. They seemed happy. I was glad."

Fjord watched him move out of the corner of his eye, picking his way around the piles of rope and bags of rations to come and stand beside him, looking out over the sea with one hand on the mast.

"Small wedding?"

"Mm. Their siblings and a cousin, myself, and Nott, and Yeza, and Luc, and Beauregard and TJ, since they were nearby, and some classmates. Caduceus offered to help with the food, so him as well."

His eyes weren't perfect in this light, but they were better than Caleb's. He could sea the coastline getting closer, some clouds starting to come back in over the horizon. There was the occasional leap of a fish, cresting up above the surface of the water to catch the bugs that came out in the twilight. Caleb shouldn't have seen all that, but still he stared intently out ahead of them.

"Must've been good."

"It was. Do you know, of the Mighty Nein, not one of us has gotten married?"

"Nott's married," he said dully, "And Cali's settled down with that nice ranger in the mountains."

"Nott was married before, and you know that I meant us. The seven of us. Six, really, without Nott. Hm, you could almost say that…" He paused distinctly. "Well, I have been told that a man of my age is running out of time."

So this was the catch. Fjord's chest tensed unwillingly. Reality, as usual, was right behind him. Besides, it was time to start steering them more directly towards the shore. They still needed to make some form of camp and either build a fire or have Caleb set up a heating spell.

"Hey, Cay?"

"Yes, Fiiiiord?" Caleb gave him a shameless grin.

"We're getting in close to shore, so it might be a good idea to sober up."

"Ah, right you are."

He couldn't help but watch in wonder as Caleb muttered a few words, opened his palm up, and pushed a ball of watery light into his body. It spread through him with a shimmer, almost knocking him back—but Fjord had a hand around his wrist so fast he barely realized it.

"Easy does it."

"Thank you, Fjord."

There was the usual set of cracking noises that came with Caleb straightening up, or doing what he thought that was, followed by an abrupt silence. Coat re-buttoned and scarf tied neatly, Caleb took his hands and put them in his pockets.

"I am sorry," he said. "That was very thoughtless of me to say."

"It's all right. Just figured you'd gotten to the point where you might go on to say something you regretted."

"It's possible."

Fjord turned away, the edge of upset still poking at him. He hadn't wanted to marry Jester, and he didn't, but that didn't kick the nagging feeling that somehow, he should have. That problem was older than the Nein by a decade and a half.

"Do you want to cast some light, or something?" he asked. "I can see fine, but—"

"I wouldn't have brought it up."

"Pardon?"

Caleb reached out tentatively to put a hand on his arm.

"Somehow, it was not in my mind. Jester. You. Whatever happened, I trust your decision. I, uh, I just wanted to say that I was rambling, and it was not that which had me thinking of marriage. But I am still sorry I said something that would remind you of it."

"Sure. I appreciate it."

The man met his eyes with the usual piercing stare, and nodded once, and squeezed his arm.

Then, he let go, and formed four pale yellow lights with a quick motion. Two hovered over the boat, while two skimmed the water out in front. His face was more closed now, nothing like the awkward openness of earlier, which made Fjord feel something right next to pity.

"Really," he said. "Thank you."

They sat out the half hour left in their journey in silence. Fjord handled the steering, keeping an eye out for rocks and a sense out for sandbars, while Caleb secured their supplies and made sure the necessaries were close to hand. They'd have to drag the boat up the beach and camp in the forest, since it was too light a craft to risk anchoring.

The world was blue-grey around them. Twilight was fading, but this near to the solstice it took time for it all to go to black. Fjord could watch the shore come in and, with Caleb's lights, see the shine off the pebbles on the beach. This year had forced him to dig up the old muscle memories of sailing. It was quick work to bring them in, even if it wasn't the cleanest. With one hand on a rope tied around the corner of the sail and the other on the tiller, they landed with a faint crunch on the sand. Caleb sent a quick spell over them for extra strength, and from there they tied ropes to the wooden cleats bolted into the hull and pulled them up not too far, but far enough to keep away from the tide.

The cove was small and narrow, maybe eighty feet across where it reached in between two hillocks, with a rough beach that sloped upward sharply to the roots of a sparse forest. Once the boat was secured by ropes to a tree and a boulder, the two of them took out their packs and tied a hide tarp down over the skiff to keep out rainwater and salt spray.

"What do you think, for fire?" Fjord asked when they were done.

"If it is warmth we are talking about," said Caleb softly, "I am nowhere near tapped out. It would waste time to find firewood."

"All right."

There still wasn't much to say between them. They found a patch of empty dirt and cleared away the twigs and rocks they could find, then laid their sleeping mats out side by side. Fjord scavenged a few branches and a small tree that they lashed together to create the frame of a lean-to, which he covered with his oilskin. It would be better than nothing.

Shelter built, they hovered for a quarter hour more. Caleb put up his alarm while Fjord said a quick prayer, each of them going through their rituals even out on the beach.

"You good?"

"Yes. Are you ready?"

"I think so."

They stood facing each other, since Fjord wasn't sure exactly what to do. It didn't matter. Caleb went through the motions of his spell, summoning a globe of russet-coloured light this time, and pressed his splayed fingertips to Fjord's chest. The warmth it sent through him reached down to his bones, but faded some right after.

"Is that a one-time thing, or…?"

"A bit of the warmth will last for hours, but it weakens fast," Caleb answered, repeating the same motions for himself. "I think you are hardier to the cold than I am, so it should be no problem."

"Yeah, that sounds right," said Fjord, searching for something he couldn't see. "Is there anything else left, that I've forgotten?"

Caleb's words came from very far off. "I don't think so. I should probably get some sleep, or else I will be even worse than I was this past early morning."

It was just something to say because he had to. They couldn't just stare at each other. Fjord was the first to look away, though he made sure to chuckle.

"That's true."

"I rarely lie."

They didn't say anything as they climbed beneath their blankets, tossed around a bit, picked spare rocks out from under the mats that they had missed, and finally settled down. They had doubled up their blankets and laid them cross-ways, keeping them both under the same barrier to make the most of their warmth.

Fjord didn't say anything as Caleb rolled over and lay against him, the odd knee or elbow brushing against his back. The man was made of angles, and tossed and turned beside Fjord.

After a moment, he'd had enough. Fjord just turned over, and pulled him close.

Caleb said:

"Good night, Fjord."

…

Sure enough, Fjord didn't wake up as cold as he should be. The effect of the spell wouldn't have been noticeable if it weren't put right up against the chilly fog for contrast.

It was useful to have a wizard around.

He stretched, and rolled out from under the bits of blanket he'd wrestled from Caleb in his sleep. Staying in bed was tempting, but it was sure to make you more tired and less willing to move. Better to make the most of the morning. Even if they close to the shoreline as was the plan, this fog could slow them down a measure. He'd have to ask Melora about anything to watch out for that might not be on their maps.

Boots, armour, and outer jacket were all picked up from the pile on the ground or extracted from the blankets, and the oilskin was carefully untied from its wooden frame. If it hadn't rained yet, it wasn't likely to.

There was a muffled groan from the ground as he stepped out of Caleb's barrier, fully dressed and pack in hand.

"It's just me."

"Mmmmrh."

"Go back to sleep, I'll be a while."

The cove they'd sheltered in wasn't even that, really, just a small patch of beach formed where the turf dipped down between two hills. The reason he'd chosen this place, or the reason the Wildmother had sent him here, was that the hike up to hills was shallower than the usual cliff paths, with enough little burrows or tree roots for his boots to keep a grip on the earth. It only took a quarter-hour or so for him to get to a high point where he could see down into the cove and out along the coastline. The fog made it tough, though, to mark any sandbars or shallow spots by sight.

The map they had told him most of what to avoid, but it paid to be sure. Fjord breathed in salt, pine, and seaweed, and stood firm, reaching into the earth as far as he could.

Nothing much happened. It usually didn't. The fog moved pretty slowly since the land hadn't had the time to warm up this morning, which was because of the lingering fog. Nature tended towards those kinds of circular things. A few birds sang, and small furry predators found their way back to their burrows in the woods, having picked off most of the dawn chorus. The first of the insects were crawling up from the ground to start munching at leaves and each other.

Things were peaceful. Quiet. The warm glow of magic was still hovering around him, making the damp chill more fresh than tiresome.

"Thank you," he said.

A faint breeze must have started up, because a wayward lock of hair just about caught him in the eye. As he brushed it aside, the fog around him swirled and shifted, marching off toward the sea and letting some of the greens and browns of the grass and earth get brighter.

"I would say you're kinder to me than I deserve, but I realize that that's not the point. There's no real sense of who deserves what, in the world. It's just cycles. We follow our natures, or fight against them."

He breathed in deeply again, savouring the morning.

"You're kind to me. Thank you for that. I promise, I won't worry more about what I should do, or whether I deserve what I want. I'll follow my nature."

Before he turned away, he took a pouch of powdered seaweed from his coat pocket, and emptied into the breeze. An offering of sorts. Didn't matter what you gave, so long as you were giving it.

"Maybe I'll get what I want. Maybe not. I don't even know what that is. But I'll find out. If you need me, I'll answer. If I need you, I'll ask."

He watched the green powder start to blend with the dew, and turned, and walked back down to the cove to ready the boat.

It was the start of a new day. He had a good hour or so until Caleb was anywhere near awake, so he dragged the boat by himself back down to the water, not quite setting it afloat. There wasn't anyplace good to moor it, so the friction from the rocks would have to do. The sea wasn't moving too fast up the beach.

There was a large tussock of grass near the edge of the beach, which he used as a seat as he pulled the map from his pack and had a look. Whatever time it was—Caleb would tell him—they'd planned for eight hours' travel today, stretching to nine at least if the fog didn't clear up. There was a small sandbar near the start of this trip that they'd have to take their time with, though it wasn't so bad if a craft this small bumped into it.

Caleb would send an update to the girls when he got up, so he might get him to ask about their schedule. This time of year, systems could hang over the coast for days, so there was a good chance they were caught in it too. That said, they also had the Traveller to guide them. Jessie probably wouldn't slow down too much. They also seemed to have a crew. From what Beau said, he was pretty eager to meet the young bunch they had come with.

He tamped down quickly on the trepidation he felt rising up like bile.

The people from Yultia had been as generous as they could, meaning they had some good cured sausages and potato cakes for breakfast. They could eat on the boat to make more time, and with Caleb along, they could even have a hot breakfast.

Taking one last look over the map, he rolled it up again and shoved it back down the side of his pack. He stood, and stretched again, because sleeping on the ground after three nights on a mattress was still a bit of a step down. He did another inventory on their supplies. Then, he walked back up to their camp to start packing up his bedroll.

"Morning, Caleb."

"It is, Fjord."

He knelt down and grabbed the corner of his blanket, tugging it off of Caleb, who was good enough to give it up and pull his own in tighter.

"You've still got until the end of the hour, if you need your beauty sleep."

"It has been thirty-six minutes since you woke me, which leaves me less than twenty-four."

Fjord gave him a shove. "I'm sure you can work with that."

He folded his bedclothes up on to the mat and rolled up the bunch, tying it with the new cord he'd braided in Yultia. The old stuff had been wearing pretty thin after weeks on the run. He tightened the leather straps of his pack around it and buckled it in, testing the weight. It always was heavier after a few days' rest.

"At the very least, I have no need to pack."

"Except for your bedroll, you mean."

"We have room in the boat for an unrolled blanket."

"Fine by me, it'll just get wet."

Caleb rolled over with a sigh, watching him at a right angle as Fjord sat down, leaning back and crossing his legs in front of him. Twenty minutes was plenty of time to enjoy the sight of the fog rolling out to the sea, or the twitch at the corner of Caleb's eye as he tried to focus sideways. He had the beginnings of crows' feet. Somehow, Fjord still remembered him as he was, and, well, he had more meat on his bones and wrinkles now, and streaks of grey hair coming in, but he was the same. He wasn't even old; only Yasha looked like that among the seven of them. It was the hardship they'd been through. You can't put that much on a body and have it come through unscathed.

"If it is necessary, then, I will pack my things. But no more than that."

Fjord met his eyes, and tilted his head to try and match the angle.

"You know, you're not looking good if you want me to hire you on a permanent basis."

Caleb rolled his eyes, which was expected, and started to get up, which was not. It wasn't anywhere near a quick or clean endeavour, but he did brush his hair back from his eyes and sit up, then stretch, and stagger to his feet. Each one-by-one, deliberately, separate. He was a man who put his actions together like a puzzle.

"You are a very hard bargainer, Mister Fjord."

"Am I?" he asked, keeping his voice steady.

"Yes." Caleb stretched out with a loud crack, and a few quieter pops, and patted him on the shoulder. "And unfortunately, you know too well what I am willing to pay. You should have gone into business."

"I _was_ going to be a merchant sailor."

In the time it took Fjord to process whatever the hell that was, Caleb had gotten himself just about ready. His pack wasn't anywhere neat, and he still had red marks on his face from where he'd been pressed into the bundle he'd used for a pillow, but he was upright.

"Where to, Captain?" he asked.

"The boat, I guess."

Caleb held a hand out to him, which he took, and got to his feet. It would've been funny to try and let him pull him up, but now was probably not the time.

"Just out of curiosity, could you tell me what the time is?"

"Seven forty-eight, ante meridian."

"We'll be on schedule."

"I'll contact Beauregard and Jester once we're on our way."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another small note--things have certainly turned a corner, but considering that Caleb was in bed with Fjord telling him how much he loved him In Current Canon when they're both officially straight (so far) (boo), we are still firmly in ambiguous territory. Is that correct? I say it's correct


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm back! This really isn't up to snuff but I've written this out like three times and all the other versions have been worse, so! Here we are. Thanks to everyone who's read it so far. We're nearly at the end :D

Fjord waited patiently for Caleb to sign off, fidgeting with the new cord he'd started. This one was a bit thicker, sturdy enough to bear some weight, using five strands rather than three. He'd twisted the fibres together into strings back in Yultia, but didn't quite get around to starting the rope.

Below him, the waves rolled under the skiff, rocking them up and down slowly enough that it didn't knock them over. The fog had burned off enough to let them see, but it still hung over them, heavy and damp. It was a gentle pace.

"—yes, I will tell him, though I'm sure he—of course, of course. Take care. We—you can tell me when I have no limit on my words, thank you very much. Goodbye."

He watched Caleb shake his head and sigh fondly, stowing his notebook in its holster.

"What are you telling me?"

"Beau says that you owe her a drink, and she you. She would like to have a nice, long, private gossip session when you return, I assume, because she told me to stay far away, and not eavesdrop on the two of you."

Good old Beau. Of everyone, he'd probably stayed in best contact with her after Caduceus. A letter every month or two suited them both well, since that was about as often as they had reliable mail service. But yeah. They did have a lot to talk about. Quite a bit. More than Caduceus, he could trust her with the awkward, sad, embarrassing parts of life and not have to be all vulnerable about it. She'd just clap him on the arm and that would be that. No thought involved.

He could use some of that right about now.

"After all these years," he said, deadpan, "She still thinks she can hide our torrid affair."

"She really misses you very much."

Caleb didn't look too judgmental. He'd already sat down, pulled out his spellbook from the other holster, and started drafting again, or seemed to. Fjord was sure there was more that was going on. Caleb stared at the paper, gripping his graphite pencil, but his always-itchy fingers weren't moving. He'd only written one line.

"I know. But she's got her work, and I had mine," Fjord said, choosing his tenses. "We can't have everything we want. Besides, we stay in touch. About a letter every two months, every month."

"You do? I hope she does not tell you anything embarrassing about me," said Caleb in an attempt at a joke. His heart clearly wasn't in it.

"She doesn't. Just the basics, who's still alive, who's dead, who's married, who's got a new job. They aren't long letters."

"She is Beau. I do not think she would let on all of what she feels."

"Honestly, she doesn't need to," he said absentmindedly. "Whatever goes on with her, I'm probably the same, and if either of us wanted to visit more, we would. Simple as that."

The fingers still weren't moving, telling Fjord that he was right to sense another layer to the conversation. It was up to him to tease it out of Caleb, just like it was Caleb's job to try and figure out what he meant by what he said.

"As it happens," he went on, "The last I wrote to her, I was asking about your trip. With you leaving so suddenly after so many years, I was worried there was something going on that you might not have mentioned."

"There was, I suppose."

Fjord had turned his attention back to the rope, creating a silence that he knew begged to be filled. In the early days, they did this a lot—at least, Fjord had thought so. He'd been so terrified that Caleb might turn out to be some murderer that they'd spent many a conversation circling each other like two cats, waiting for the slightest sign of weakness or conflict and then lashing out. Except, back then there were stakes. Here, Fjord was fine with whatever answer he got. He just wanted Caleb to feel he could be honest.

Part of it was the same, though. They were both of them afraid to move first and afraid to be too late.

"I…" Caleb's voice wavered as he continued, laying the words down on empty air. "…did not just need to travel, as I wrote to you. I wanted to come here."

Fjord was sitting in the front, facing back and working his way down the rope. He had looped each of the cords over a peg in the mast. As of now, he'd just about reached the end, so he decided to tie it off early and start another. It would at least give him something to do while he played the waiting game.

Caleb was quicker to break than he'd thought.

"Fjord?"

"Yeah?"

"You will have to forgive me, but I, ah, I believe I have been a very, very stupid man."

"What's to forgive?" he joked, or tried to. Now it was him falling flat. "I've been waiting a few years to hear you say something like that."

"You know that is not what I mean. Fjord, I—I missed you." Caleb's voice shook, and shook him with it. "Very much."

Finally, he looked up, setting aside his work to focus on the task at hand. Caleb had also put his book down on the bench beside him. His hands were clenched tightly and resting on his knees, the distance between them on this tiny skiff still too much to reach across.

"I missed you too," he stated.

Funny thing. After all those years of knowing Caleb, he still somehow found it in himself to be surprised that he winced in pain, looking at Fjord with a bit of discomfort and more pity than he wanted or was used to.

"I had been afraid of that."

Now, Fjord was the one who flinched.

He looked away almost as soon as he realized he'd done it, picking up his rope again to start on the next length. "All right, then."

"I'm sorry," Caleb said hurriedly. "That was not what I said. What I meant. I meant to say—there is something—Fjord, I promise you, I didn't mean to say that."

"Then say what you mean," he croaked. "I can tell you've been dealing with something, so I've been happy to wait for you—you don't have to say anything. But if you really want to do this, be honest with me. I think, after all this, I deserve it."

His hands were so tight that the rope came together with a mechanical precision. Each thread ready to snap, each loop of braid strained and straight.

"I do. Want to do this. I want to—to talk with you. Whatever else I may have done, I have not lied to you."

Risking a glance up, he saw that Caleb had looked away, expression tight. The lingering fog wasn't pleasant anymore. It just made them both grey and sallow.

"Even if you haven't," he accused. "That doesn't mean you've told the truth. Do we understand each other?"

"We do," Caleb said quietly.

Fjord nodded and sat back again, having leaned forward unconsciously during their little chat. He tried to relax.

"Then go on."

"What I want to say" started Caleb, "Is that your—rather, _our_ friendship was important to me."

Steadying himself, Fjord let his attention drift away from his eyes and into his body. The boat rocked beneath them as it sailed on slowly, catching a hint of a wave here or there. The fog flowed past. If you paid attention, you could feel it moving on your skin like it was water.

"You offered it to me from when we first met. I was glad to have it, but…I did not return it as I should have. I thought that in Felderwin I should be happy, as you were with Jester, and that I shouldn't need more than what I was given. That is why I think I did not try to stay with you, as you travelled." Caleb had been using a teacherly sort of cadence, but he was struggling more and more to keep it. "That is something I regret more than—it is my greatest regret that was not a sin. To have a friendship and a friend that was so _much_ to me and to let it fade."

Fjord just nodded, unable to meet his eyes. He understood that. He'd been the same.

"So, when I say that I was afraid you had missed me," chattered Caleb, "I am saying that I was afraid to have hurt you. If I run into my own mistakes, then that is nothing new, but to force you to feel the same—that is hard to stomach. I think that if I had not seen you so often, with the rest of the Nein, then perhaps I might have, uh, thought of it sooner. It is hard to say. But then, I suppose, it does not matter."

The boat rocked, the fog hovered, the air was too cold, and Fjord felt some kind of peace at hearing it put into words like that. Everything he'd been feeling, the other way around.

"If it's that you're bent up over, then it wasn't all your fault," he offered.

"Not all, but some."

"What will you do about it, then?"

"You must have guessed," said Caleb softly.

Fjord swallowed, hard, and ran his thumb along the scar on his right palm. He looked up and saw Caleb, tensed and taut, his knuckes white and almost vibrating with the effort it took him to stay still and face this. He couldn't blame him.

"You want to stay—"

"Only if you would have me."

"Caleb." It came so easily. "I—of course I'll have you. I promised you a favour."

Somehow, Caleb looked even more distressed.

"No. No, if you refer to our—our pact, don't. That was a selfish attempt to put you in my debt."

Fjord just shrugged. There was no weight in it. His hands kept up their work on the rope. "I'd guessed as much. It doesn't matter. I didn't offer myself just to get your help."

"Why would you do it, then?"

"Don't know. I suppose I…wanted to put something between us, to keep us together. Same as you."

Caleb shook his head sternly, keeping his hands still.

"Even so, I don't want you to accept me as a companion for a favour, or some debt, or even a kindness. Take me if you want me, and only then. Be happy. Choose what will make you so. That is enough. And—if you can wait longer, wait for me to tell you why I stayed away so long."

Caught off guard, it took him a moment to remember what Caleb was talking about. It felt like he'd been by his side for years.

"What you said to Jester—"

"Yes."

He braced himself. "All right. I'm listening."

…

Caleb steeled himself and rose from his seat, picking his way over coiled ropes and a barrel of fresh water to Fjord's side. He chose his spot so he might face him as much as he were able, wedged between the mast and the hull of the skiff. He held Fjord's attention for now, and tried to do so delicately, because it was not so much rare as hard to spot, and because he could not risk being anything but gentle.

"When last you, Jester and I all saw each other, she took me aside, and told me she wanted to marry you," he said simply. "I told her that if she knew you would accept, then I was overjoyed."

"And?"

There was nothing he could read in Fjord that told him what to do. What was left was the honesty.

"…I told her that that love is not always what it seems to be. That she should be certain of the outcome, or else learn, and interrogate whatever answer you might give her."

"For her sake?"

Fjord seemed to recoil, looking at him with earnest confusion.

"For both of you," he said quietly.

"What—why?"

"I've…spent long enough with you to get to know you."

Caleb fought to keep himself from moving away and escaping this discussion in more ways than one. If he failed to do what was right, now, he would be falling back into the same mistakes that followed him from year to year. Everything had led to this.

"Don't dance around, Cay," Fjord said, echoing his own thoughts.

"I knew—" he said, almost shaking. "I thought you wouldn't be willing to give what she might expect from you, if you were to be married, and at the time I had no certainty you would be able to reject her."

A strong, sudden gust of wind tilted the boat to one side, not enough to move them but enough to show the length of that silence after.

He had expected some kind of anger when he told him what he'd said, a glare or a shout or an accusation, his own words to be thrown bitterly back in his face. Certainly, he had hurt Fjord enough. To say such a thing about another person without their consent was a step far, far across the line drawn between them.

Only, Fjord was not angry, not bitter. He only sighed, and put his head in his hands, and looked as if he were about to cry. It hurt more.

"So, you told her I could never be her husband. That I'd been pretending."

"I put words into your mouth," Caleb answered. "I gave doubt to Jester, I did what I could to destroy your relationship. I have been afraid to tell either of you, because you have a right to be furious with me. I was sure I was correct, then. That is no excuse for my playing with your lives."

Fjord said nothing for a long while as they swayed with the motion of the boat.

Then, he laughed, choked and strained. Caleb reached out to him instinctively.

"I'm so sorry," he said.

"Don't—" Fjord cut him off before he could say more. "If that's what you told her, don't apologise." His shoulders caved. "You didn't say anything wrong."

Caleb gawked.

"What?"

The answer caught him entirely off guard; the wild moods, the sorrow, the loneliness that sloughed off of Fjord like skin all had pointed to a broken heart, the loss of a love, a star-crossed romance. All things that Caleb had forced on him in his arrogance. Or, he had thought so.

"You were right," said Fjord, seeming calmer now that he had given up all semblance of composure. "If you're saying what I think you're saying. I can't—I don't love people like I should. I don't want to be alone, mind you. But I can't hold up my end of the bargain. I can never give someone what they need from me."

"Jester would not—"

"How'd you know?"

They spoke at the same time, Fjord coming out of his daze with a look of horror. Caleb went first. Though he was afraid and adrift in this exchange, he owed at least that much to Fjord. He had been right all along; he deserved honesty, not just truth.

"I saw—well, I have known you for a long time," he stammered. "And during that time there are things that I have noticed, though I do not know how much is you and how much is me looking for things that are not there and how—with Avantika, we did not—I don't know."

Fjord just stared at him.

"You never truly chose to be with a woman." He had already gone over the drop; it was no big thing to fall further. "You never wanted Jester like you might have. You never pursued any other person. It does not matter. Somehow, I thought that must be it. I told Jester who I thought you were because I was afraid you would bury yourself agin and sacrifice your will and your body. Again. For the sake of someone who you love."

"You thought I'd lie to her?" asked Fjord sharply.

Caleb smacked hard down on to the ground. "If you told yourself it was _for_ her, then…yes."

He received no answer for a long time. Fjord used the pads of his fingers to move tears from his eyes.

"I did."

Carefully, so as not to press him further, he reached out and placed his other hand on Fjord's arm. Then, awkwardly but fully, he embraced him.

"Oh, Fjord."

He waited one long minute to release him, and even as he did, he kept one hand in contact.

"That was not all I have to apologise for," he said. "I will say the rest, unless this has been enough for one day."

"Go on," whispered Fjord. It was very nearly enough to make him reach out again.

"I have no idea if she believed me or otherwise, in what I said about you."

"She did."

There was no emotion in that.

"However—" Caleb bit down on the word. "When I asked her not to marry, Jester did say that she…she understood how I felt. She said that she had chosen to do what she could with the time that she had. At the time, I thought that she had accused me of jealousy for her, and I said no, but that is false."

"So you loved her?"

Damn. He had learnt this language on his own, and even now it betrayed him.

"No, no, no, I meant—" He searched for it. "What happened was that I had not understood what she said. My understanding was what was false. I think I now know what she meant, and it had nothing to do with all this, at least, nothing that is mine to say. What happened was I thought I knew you both better than yourselves, and she told me I was wrong. I know that whoever you were, she loved you."

"You shouldn't put words in people's mouths."

Caleb shook him just a little.

"No, but I am _sure_ of this. Regardless of what she meant, I was so ashamed of what you both might think that I ran away, and I did not look back. That is what happened. That is all. I hurt you because I was _afraid_. Whether you still wish me for a friend or whether it is hard to forgive, it is your decision. You have been honest with me and now—I have been honest with you."

In a fit of courage, he gripped Fjord's hand and tried to remember the day when they made their pact. A low moment, but…theirs was a tradition of favours. An potion for some fire. A promise for some blood. Even, back at the beginning, he had traded Fjord some of his story for some time, and his trust for trust in return.

He had wanted to secure—rather, to _trap_ Fjord in that pact, and yet…he had poured out on to that altar all the life he could spare. He had given it freely. All of it.

"It is not nearly enough," he finished, faltering.

There was enough time between them to let both breathe.

It was still morning, thought the light was dim and dreamlike, almost. They could see only the vague outline of the shore and no horizon; they could be on another plane and it would not make a difference. The world, for now, contained the two of them.

Fjord took his hand.

"Caleb," he said at last, "You're my friend."

"I am."

Looking up and past the edge of the sea, one could imagine that anything existed just beyond the fog. Thick bunches of it moved and swirled like leaves on a forest stream, locked in patterns that had to be formed by something in the current out of reach of their sight. It was all he could do not to throw light out there and find it; only the pressure on his hand kept him here.

To help with that, he turned his focus on Fjord. The grey in his hair and the creases around his eyes from sun and age.

"You're—I can't just let you out of my life again. Even then, there's not much to forgive."

"We can disagree on that."

Fjord laughed a little at a joke that was all his own, glancing away for a moment before fixing Caleb with a curious look.

"All you did was tell Jester the truth," he said, almost like it was a question.

"I left you alone. That is my regret."

"You're forgiven, then."

The look between them seemed a ritual in and of itself. Caleb shifted their hands where they were tangled, pressing their palms close together.

"By you?" he asked.

"I forgive you," said Fjord.

A giddy sort of feeling spread through his body.

"Then, if you have forgiven me for that, would you have me as a partner?"

"You can travel with me as long as you like," said Fjord. "Though I don't think I'll be doing as much of that as before."

Fjord sat back, now smiling. His eyes were still red around the very edges, so Caleb shuffled closer in beside him.

"Oh?"

"I might move inland for a bit," explained Fjord. "Once we've dealt with this problem. To see Caduceus, and Beau, and all of you. Then, maybe I'll come down here and find someplace to stay. Then, for a few months, I'll travel, but I'll have someplace to come back to."

"Is that what will make you happy?"

Caleb felt a squeeze around his hand, which he returned gladly.

"I think so."

"We will find out," he said, a question hidden in the statement.

" _We_ will," Fjord answered.

Then, finally, Caleb gave in and hugged Fjord again. Tightly. And for a long time. He might have welcomed an end different from this, and yet it was all that he could have hoped for.

Their hands were still pressed together.

…

The fog lifted soon after, revealing a sky that was startlingly blue. It stood out stark against the choppy lines of the coast and waves. On seeing the sun, Fjord gave a prayer to Melora out loud. He thanked her. What he was thanking her for, well, _that_ he kept between the two of them.

Caleb seemed to enjoy the blue skies. Actually, he was like something released. He kept his shoulders straight and high, not needing to hunch over and squint at his spellbook to make out the writing in the dim light, or mayb not needing to because he'd finally taken off the weight hitched around his neck.

The two of them moved dance-like around the boat, Caleb getting up to stretch just when Fjord sat down to work on one of the dozen repairs and little tasks he kept avoiding. From time to time he asked Caleb about what he was working on, and Caleb would take the time to explain the spell and purpose, even the theory, sometimes asking how Fjord thought a pathway might go from one state to another. Fjord found he was enjoying the talk, not just listening or hanging on it to comb through for meaning.

"And you never, you know, _feel_ it?"

Caleb shook his head, smiling slyly.

"Well, if I have never felt _it_ , then I would not know what it is, so how could I know that I had not?"

"You know what I mean. It's just—when I cast a spell, right, I can always feel it coming. Like, the smell of flowers, or water welling up, or what have you." Fjord gestured vaguely at the world around them. "I can tell when it's going to happen, and when it's not. Like—oh, yes, that was it—when I rejected Uk'otoa, I couldn't feel it. Then, with Melora, I could. Could you tell when you lost your skills?"

"Perhaps a comparison might be Beau and her fists. She can feel when she is about to punch someone hard, but the punch is from her. It's a direct action over which she has control, it can be blocked, and all effects materialize only after it goes through."

Fjord leaned against the mast and crossed his arms. "I can't say I really get it, but go on."

"When I cast a spell," Caleb explained, "I like to think that I have opened a door that will let it through. It is not something in me that flows out, it is something I create from the things around me. So, I could feel that I was out of practice when we first met, but only because my fingers were quite stiff, or because I had few memories and even fewer pages filled in my spellbook. I was, uh, fumbling with the doorknob, as it were. But I could not tell if there was anything behind the door. I only knew that the door generally had something behind it, and that opening it would let it out."

He understood what Caleb was saying, he could conceptualize of it, but—

"I can't imagine trying to work like that."

"Oh? How so?"

"Well, you know me," he laughed. "I'm instinctive. Instinctual?"

"Both are correct." Caleb nodded.

"Thanks. Anyhow, my powers weren't taught to me. The first time around, I didn't even know how I used them, I just…did. Even now, my connection to them is more, I don't know, emotional than yours seems to be."

"For you," said Caleb slowly, testing out the words, "The basis of your power is the sensation of it. You cast what you feel you are going to cast, or you use your feelings to call up what you think you should be casting."

"Yeah. And for you, it's the knowledge of it."

Fjord pushed off the mast and wandered to Caleb, sneaking a look at his book. It was snatched away before he could really process the shapes on the page.

"Anything I should be worried about?" he joked.

"No, no, not at all. This is unfinished. In fact, it is a mess," muttered Caleb, slipping the book into its holster.

He just laughed. "You're making up magic in the middle of the ocean. I don't think it matters if it's a mess—it's amazing."

Like clockwork, Caleb stood up and cracked his knuckles, his wrists, and, against everything that told Fjord what was natural, his elbows, shoulder, and back. The man was a living dicebox. The last few pops made him wince.

"Ah, that was nice. About the magic—I am a wizard. It is not amazing. It simply is."

He continued to stretch, stepping to the mast to use it as a brace. Before he continued, he paused and looked back at Fjord with another odd, transparent look. The patch job on his coat that Fjord had picked up from earlier in the morning definitely wasn't more interesting.

"What is it?"

Caleb bounced on his toes a moment, clasping his hands together and turning them inside out and back in again. At that non-answer, Fjord started back on the patch, pushing the bone needle through the leather patch and the thick sheepskin, then pulling the gut thread taut.

"I could teach you some," Caleb said. It was quiet enough that Fjord needed a moment to decide what he had said, and what he had said to _him_ , as Caleb stammered on. "What I mean is that if we are travelling together for some time, that would be enough for lessons, and with your experience and intelligence I do not thin it would be a steep learning curve, and you have always seemed interested, so since I am now a teacher…"

"I'd like that," Fjord cut in, holding back another laugh. "You're right, I've always been interested. I suppose I just didn't know where to start, but you probably do."

"I think so, ja. Indeed. Yes," Caleb reaffirmed, "I do. I should be able to use my own lesson plans, I think, though they will be somewhat modified."

"Do whatever you think will work. We've got time."

And there—that was it. The thing that had been dogging the both of them through the months, that was it. Fjord froze.

That was it! They were running out of time. He had felt it, getting on into the next decade when everyone with their life together had married and settled down. When he wasn't going to live as long as his friends. The uncertainty was part of it, and the fights, and everything else, but the thing weighing on them all along had been time. The thought that there would always be more time for things to work out had turned into the though that there would not. That was it.

Fjord jumped as the tip of the needle stuck into his thumb, and quickly wiped the blood on the leather. It was pretty much one big stain at this point, anyway.

"If you need to be healed," he heard Caleb say, "Then I am afraid you are on your own."

"The Mother provides," he answered.

The rest of the day passed with the same kinds of ordinary, circular conversation that felt better than a rest. The sky was clear until they pulled ashore, showing them a slow sunset. There was time for them both to stare up at the wheeling stars and just feel the pull of the heavens, sucking them up like the moon pulled the tides. Caleb pointed out the constellations he had learned from his books, and Fjord laid them over with his own, pulled from navigational charts and the stories they told on the ships when he was young.

Nights were colder when they were clear. They both piled on their coats and scarves as the night drew in, Caleb even summoning Frumpkin to keep in the front of his jacket, though he warned Fjord about it before.

Fjord sailed them into a sandier inlet tonight. The beach stretched too far inland for it to be worth hiking up, so Caleb pulled his hut out to cover them on the beach. He laid his alarm spell out around them and the boat, and Fjord said his prayers without the usual plea for guidance. They slept as they had the last night, close by each other, keeping warm. Caleb stayed awake longer than he did. From what Fjord remembered, he spent the time on his back, watching the stars.

He said something to him, probably, but he was so far gone in his dream that they blended into one, and were gone by morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I was on the fence on how explicit to make Caleb's explanation. He and Fjord are still both hiding things from one another, plus with the grab bag setting I really didn't know what lingo to use. I'm sorry if things were too ambiguous, but I can't give anyone a full explanation until we hear Jester's side of the story.
> 
> In simple form, this is what we learned. Caleb tells Fjord:  
> \- Jester told Caleb she intended to propose to Fjord  
> \- Caleb implied to Jester that he knew Fjord wouldn't say 'yes' because he's never seen any evidence of Fjord wanting to marry anyone, especially a woman, and he can put two and two together  
> \- Jester told Caleb that he was in no position to say anything, since she was just trying to do something with her life while he was wasting time  
> \- Caleb /thought/ Jester was implying that he had wasted time waiting to propose to her, that she would have said 'yes' to him, and that he was warning her off Fjord because he was jealous of him and didn't want them to get married  
> \- Caleb was so horrified that she would think that that he ditched that very night and didn't speak to either of them, figuring that he must have Really Fucked Up somewhere for her to accuse him of that  
> \- Caleb later came to believe that Jester wasn't accusing him of jealousy, but instead was accusing him of hubris and telling him not to mess with people's lives because he thought he knew them better than themselves  
> \- Because he thought Jester told Fjord he'd tried to sabotage his relationship, he sulked for months and was too embarrassed to confront them about what he had said  
> Fjord tells Caleb:  
> \- He put on some kind of act that might lead Jester to believe he would marry her. He doesn't reveal the extent of this, or what he might have done to do what he thought she wanted.  
> \- He's more or less asexual, but he absolutely doesn't have the words to describe it and feels kind of guilty about it in general  
> \- Fjord feels real guilty in specific about leading Jester on
> 
> Keep in mind, this is just restating what was said in more ambiguous terms in the chapter. We're still fully in unreliable narrator territory, Caleb and Fjord haven't told each other the whole truth yet, and we still haven't heard Jester's side of the story. Stay tuned!
> 
> As for the last bit, it's because wizard!Fjord is a pet interpretation of mine and I truly don't believe he should stay a paladin. The man's curious, smart, and can't resist pushing the big red button. He's a wizard, Harry.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been out for a while! I do have a bit more written, but it's just not coming out how I'd like it to. This chapter is just a short montage of life with Beauregard, as she catches up with our main duo

"Do you think they'll be okay?" asked Jester, right out of the blue.

"Sure," Beau replied automatically. "Yessie seemed pretty smart. You said you were all on the road for a while, yeah?"

"Ya, but I was there."

"In any fight, it's the numbers that matter. So long as there's someone willing to organize them, they'll be just fine."

They were both sitting at the back of the boat—the stern—for the afternoon's travel. There wasn't much going on. Once they were clear of the cove, the winds had picked up but the weather stayed fine, so they'd set course for the cape as fast as was safe for them. Some of Jes' girls, Prithi and Maura, had tagged along too.

For the first time since she left Caleb, Beau had some real down time. She'd spent it mostly with Uri so far. He didn't show, but she felt like he might have been in need of some guidance. A stabilizing force. Damned if she knew why he chose her for a study buddy. She didn't even know magic. Teaching the kid would keep things simple and get her out of the awkwardness that was talking to Jester.

"Yessie will be fine, then," Jes said firmly, convincing herself. "Do you know, she has eight siblings?"

"Damn."

But, after a while—or two days, in this case—you couldn't help yourself. Beau had dropped down from the crows' nest when they called the shift change, slinking back by the tiller where she knew Jester would be starting her time on propulsion. They had enough power between her and Bharim to halve their journey back to the major ports. She was perched on a barrel, part of a stack of equipment, and turned sideways to keep their wake in view. Beau had folded herself up in lotus position next to her. This way Jes could look down and see her properly, but when Beau looked up to see her face, she got edged out by the brightness of the sky.

That was probably a good thing.

"I know, I know! Where do you even keep that many?"

Beau idly scratched a few lines on to the sketching paper Jes had lent her. What was on there didn't much look like anything.

"Beats me."

They collapsed into a silence. There was only so much to talk about that wasn't risky.

"Beau?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay with, you know…this?"

The seas were rough enough that Beau could pass off the flinch as a mere kick of the waves. Her knuckles were blotched with pale spots.

"Huh? What do you mean?"

Jester sounded bashful, though she didn't dare to look.

"Well, it's not your job to be carrying us around. I mean, this is important, but you have other things to do that are important too."

"This is my job, though. They sent me up to check out some disappearances and here I am, checking them out."

The weather up here wasn't bad at all. Summer had ended, with clouds crowding in to seal up the sky and bed down the world for winter. Beau and Jester were both lit by the pale, even, painful light that came from that kind of cover.

"You haven't reported back, though."

"Oh, I forgot, I did have a letter to drop off at the post office we found out here in the middle of nowhere."

"You know what I mean," reproached Jester.

Beau knew she was being unfair. That didn't make it easier. "I send a letter back with some of the escapees when I got a hold of this tub. Maybe they got it, maybe they didn't. Dairon knows I can handle myself."

"Are you allowed companions?"

"Strictly, no," she admitted. "But I need to get on these guys' tail while we've got a lead. There wasn't any time to wait for real reinforcements, so you guys are the best I've got. Kind of like the old days."

"Ya." Jes sounded…strangely put out. She'd been acting kind of weird, so Beau just chalked it up to circumstances. "You, me, Uri, Prithi, Maura, Olina, and Bharim makes seven, so that's right!"

"Hey, I didn't think that far." Beau swallowed hard. "Say, what've you been up to? I know we've been talking, but it's hard to catch up with everyone else around, yeah?"

Jester laughed, breaking the tension. "Ya, of course! You know, I _was_ worried about making people feel left out or not getting the inside jokes. It's been a year, right? You probably have to talk fast."

Obviously, Beau had just forgotten everything that had happened since she last saw Jes.

"Uh," she said eloquently, "I've been working. I think—yeah, first thing after the reunion must've been some spying."

"Really? Where? Did you have to wear a disguise, or something?"

"No, no, not that kind of spying. We had some people reporting in suspicious prison transfers in the far west midlands, so I had to go and scope the whole thing out. Record numbers in, numbers out, capacity, look for any tunnels or weird stuff," she said. Gods, why couldn't she spin it so that it was interesting? This was supposed to be fun, catching up. "I guess it wasn't spying as much as it was reconnaissance, just a lot of it over a long period. It was pretty boring, honestly."

"Was it just you, then? They could have given you someone to talk to, at least!"

Beau gave up on the current sketch and scribbled it over with the graphite pencil. It had been a face, but she wasn't an artist. The eyes stared out in opposite directions and the mouth curled up like a dead spider beneath a too-small nose.

"Eh, it's fine most of the time. If you talk, you get caught. Like I said, we're technically supposed to be alone. It was some sp—some detailed reconnaissance, then I got shipped up to Rexxentrum to get one of the trade ministers, then it was some real nasty shit with the Clovis Concord. I taught martial combat and, uh, history during summer semester. That's the fast version."

"Wow, you are really travelling a lot."

"Same as last time."

"No, but that's two countries and teaching! How long did you spend doing all that expositoring?"

She spared another glance up at Jester, barely making out a broad smile on her face. There was something not quite right about it.

"Oh, hell if I know," she laughed. "Honestly, it's pretty busy. I think it was…two months on the prison thing? Then I was back at aitch-queue by the end of spring, so it's got to be a month and a half in Rexxentrum and six on the Coast."

"What, six months? On one job? Did you fuck up or something?"

Jes gave her a friendly kick in the shoulder. She returned the sentiment with a punch to the shin.

"No, they just had me doing odd jobs."

"Okay, if you say so."

"I do say so. The main reason I was there was to track down some Crownsguard general who was in cahoots with some kind of labour rights violation, but then they just kept sending stuff to me instead of sending someone else down there. I'm pretty sure the only reason I got out was because they've got it in their contract that Expositors have to report back for the mission to be logged as complete."

"Paperwork's the worst. I mean, it's good sometimes! But it's no fun."

Beau had flipped her paper over and started just drawing in circles, trying to see if one of them would come out perfect. If she did it enough times, it was going to happen. That was definitely how chance worked.

"After a while, you stop thinking about it," she said absently. "Um. So, yeah. That's what I've done. What about you?"

"Oh, I've been travelling!" It was the non-answer Beau had expected. "That's where I met Yessie and Prithi and all of them, like I told you."

"So you did. Where to?"

"All the way north. I was on the road from the Coast. We were mostly following the Traveller the whole way. It's pretty boring, actually. I just, you know, get up, start walking, and then we keep walking, and just went where I was needed, yeah? And depressing, too."

Something in Jes' voice said that they'd better not follow that line of questioning if Beau wanted to keep the mood light. The Beau of ten or even five years ago would have said "tough" and chipped away until she found whatever she tried to hide.

Today's Beau was a little older than that, thankfully. She made a sympathetic noise. "Yeah. It sucks to think that there's still all this shit going on, after everything we did. But that's how it goes."

"What is?"

Okay, now that wasn't expected. If Jes was edging around whatever dark stuff she'd seen, she wouldn't be doubling down on Beau's pessimism.

"Well," she said awkwardly, "Things just change slowly. I mean you can _try_ to make a difference, and you totally can, but it's all going to slide back."

"Not all of it," Jester insisted. She had turned back around and taken her eyes off the water.

"Sure. Yeah. But like, look at me." Beau tried to ignore the fact that Jester _was_ looking at her. "I've been trying to be better since I met you guys, but I didn't exactly turn into you overnight, yeah? I was still the worst teacher in the Order after we split up. It took me a damn long time to be polite. And _that_ was when I was trying. So it's the same for the world, I guess."

This side of the paper was coming along better. She'd moved on to shading the circles, messy and scribbled-out where they'd hit a high wave or swayed under a gust. Once or twice she'd almost had her head knocked into the side of the ship, but she wouldn't be a monk if she didn't know how to get around that.

"Oh, people don't change a lot very fast. I knew _that._ "

Jester fidgeted. Clearly, they were sailing into dangerous waters. Beau decided to let her wait until everything swirling around under the surface of her had died down enough for her to talk plainly about it.

"In our case, I'm pretty happy about it. Hey, do you think this looks good?"

She held up the paper, her thumb pointing to one sphere that came out looking decent.

"Your paper's pretty shit quality," Jes deadpanned, "But, ya, I think you're getting the hang of it."

"You don't pull any punches, do you?"

"Duh. You can take them."

Beau elbowed her in the calf.

"What d'you think I should draw next?"

…

"That's it!" Beau cheered. "Took you long enough. Now, ask me something."

Prithi hesitated, hand still outstretched from where she'd struck Beau. "Uh, what is your name?"

To Beau's surprise, the girl from Jester's little troupe had a bit of something about her that Beau had recognized as ki. Turns out her tutor was one of the Order, and she'd even been sent up to one of the monasteries for real training when she got overpowered and chained up. She was still, understandably, pretty bitter about that.

"Beauregard Lionett," Beau answered. "Okay, that was good, you should ask me something I'd want to lie to you about. This only lasts a minute, so hurry up."

In front of her, Prithi stared with the faraway eyes of someone trying to think fast. "What…what disease did you pretend to have to avoid robbery?"

Thanks to years of training and dedicated meditation, Beau didn't cringe hard enough to snap a rib. "Syphilis. So Jessie told you about all of that?"

Prithi laughed a little and helped her up. They were practicing hits on the foredeck, which wasn't great for splinters. The weak northern sun had decided to show up.

"Yes, she has very many stories to tell."

"Did she tell you about the time I used this technique on one of the pirate queens of Darktow?"

It was only a little exaggeration. Definitely worth it to see the look on Prithi's face. They both returned to stance, poised lightly in the thin leather sandals that were part of the Order's kit.

"I do not believe so."

Prithi shifted back, keeping her weight moving but even between her two feet. Beau raised her arms in front of her.

"Fair enough. We've got a lot of stories."

"Perhaps you can tell us tonight?"

Beau lashed out suddenly, running forward across the deck. Prithi was alert enough to step out of the way. Good. Beau retreated, dropping low and circling her. There wasn't any room here for a real sparring match, but she could at least keep her in shape. Beau rotated between each member of the crew for an hour or so per day, checking their progress and figuring out new exercises to keep them all from going stir-crazy. Prithi got extra time for training, since they might need another fighter on board.

"Just making sure you were paying attention," she said. "I think it's Bharim's turn tonight on the entertainment, but I'll tell you all the next time."

Speaking of stir-crazy, they also put one person on amusements each day. Card games, stories, word games, whatever; they just had to come up with two hours of something they could all do as a group.

"I look forward to it."

"Thanks, kid. Now, can you lay one of those truth-punches on me with a four-point indigo kata?"

Prithi nodded sharply. "Why indigo? You said in a fight to do whatever will hit."

"Just checking your memory. I'll make you do the rest of them after."

"What about freestyle?"

"I'm not supposed to be letting you improvise—"

Before she could finish, Prithi had leapt at her, dropped to the ground, and already was swinging her foot around in a strike that was guaranteed to knock someone's knees out if they weren't paying attention. Beau countered it classically, jumping with both feet and fighting out the rest of the routine. Of course, you couldn't really fight a student, but you could give them the expected series of counters and attacks. Prithi missed one or two strikes and fumbled a third, but she fought a lot more precisely than Beau had at that level. Eventually, she'd chased Beau right back to the stairs and landed one good blow to the shoulder, ice-green ki curling up around her fingers like mist.

She should've been hitting the solar plexus, but Beau was not about to go that far for teaching. They'd agreed not to try.

"I think that worked," she ground out. "A little lighter, next time?"

"My apologies. Um, what is the worst thing you've ever drunk for a bet?"

"Milk margarita. Fuck. Jessie told you that one too, didn't she?"

Prithi helped her up with a shit-eating grin, prompting Beau to fall back and throw her instead. She took it with a roll.

The lesson kind of deterioated after that, not that there had been any structure to begin with. It was too much fun to give up on this long a trip. After all, Prithi had probably learned something. And Bharim could do mending, so it wasn't too bad about the broken plank.

…

"Something that starts with 'M.'"

Beau stared out over the horizon, hanging upside down comfortably from the crows' nest with her feet in the rigging.

"Morningstar?"

"Nah. Wait, do we have one of those?" asked Uri, perched in the actual nest.

"Yeah, but you couldn't lift it."

"You don't know that," said Uri automatically. "Whatever, it's not a morningstar."

"Malt beer?"

"What? No."

Beau swung herself back and forth, building up momentum. She'd made it a good few minutes, but now the blood was starting to get right up in her head.

"'S worth a try. I don't think we've got any."

"Then why'd you guess it?"

"Wishful thinking. Uh, how about Marshwater." It was a type of rotgut Tori always liked when they were younger, but Uri wouldn't know that.

"No."

She was swinging in a ninety degree arc now, metres above the deck and looking out over a dull grey sea.

"Money."

"We actually do have that, but no."

"Mink?"

"Jester says he's a weasel."

With one last push, Beau swung up in the air and felt herself fall, leaning into the gravity as it brought her around. Just past the 0 degree mark, she drew herself in, let her feet slide out of the rope, and vaulted up over the crows' nest. Hah. Uri couldn't quite hide that he was watching her.

She managed to land right on the edge of the basket, just behind him. Damn good touchdown. That deserved a bow.

"Showoff."

"Back atcha, kid. Did you think I didn't notice you divining?"

Uri shot her a glare and turned back to the sea, probably looking for any shadows on the cloudy horizon. There was more traffic up here than you'd expect. The towns north of the cape wouldn't have sea access all through the winter, so whatever supplies they needed either had to be shipped in now or taken overland later on.

Thankfully, Uri's magic was spitting up new uses faster than he could handle them. He wasn't a Caleb, by any means, but he could shift his vision out by a few hundred metres to give them advance warning or to snoop around the hold for something Beau wouldn't guess in I Spy. Him and the clerics could all do it. It was thanks to them that they could try to track down the slavers, really. Three mages meant that one could be on lookout, one could hide the boat, and one could shift water all at the same time.

"It's not showing off if it's what I'm supposed to do," Uri said flatly.

Beau sat down on the edge of the basket, wedging her legs in the space that remained.

"Yeah," she agreed, "But you're getting stronger, right? How far out can you go these days?"

"I don't know. Part of a mile?"

"Give me a reference point."

Uri shrugged. "So you've given up."

"What?"

"Something that starts with 'M'."

"Oh, yeah. Okay."

There was some amount of shuffling and grumbling as Uri tried to stretch his cramped legs without knocking Beau. She could keep her balance better than he thought, but it was good to let the kid think he was being considerate.

"Medallion?"

"Nope."

"Muffins?"

"No."

Beau racked her brains for a moment. "All right, give it up."

There was a grunt from Uri that could've been a laugh or a sigh. It didn't have the maturity and depth of the contemptuous snort Beau had spent years developing, but it had potential.

"It's the mast."

"That's not on the boat, it's part of the boat."

"It's on top of the boat, so it's on the boat."

"Fine." Beau had just been arguing for the sake of a good, friendly bicker. "Now show me how far you can see."

"We can't even see the coast, so I don't know what you want me to say."

The kid had a point. With clouds this close in around them, there wasn't much to see but ocean and shifting sky.

"That cloud there, that looks like a bird. How much closer are you?"

Uri grumbled, squinting a little. "What kind of bird?"

"You know, a bird. Little thing, 'cheep cheep', fat and fluffy."

"So, like, a songbird."

"Yeah."

"You could've said."

Beau rolled her eyes, something she did a lot around Uri.

"Well, it's changing now, so give me an estimate. Come on."

"I don't know, twelve hundred feet? I'll tell you when I see a whitecap."

"That works."

They waited a few minutes in the type of silence you get when two people don't particularly want or need to be talking to one another. Then, Uri's arm flashed out suddenly, pointing a skinny finger at the horizon.

"There. That's right below me."

"Huh."

"How far is that?"

Beau considered it carefully.

"I don't know. Maybe a mile?"

It was worth it to see the look on Uri's face. The kid definitely hadn't had siblings his age, if he was this easy to rile.

"Are you sure you're a monk?"

"Could anyone else do a flip like that?"

"Okay," conceded Uri, "But, like, the Cobalt Soul?"

"Yeah?"

"Ioun, the goddess of knowledge? Is that ringing any bells?"

Beau returned his grin and planted her hand firmly down on his head, ruffling his hair. She probably shouldn't have done that. It was greasy as shit. Probably good for her dry skin and calluses, though.

"When you're my age, kiddo, you'll learn that there's more than one type of knowledge."

"You're not even old."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are really appreciated! I swear I'll get to replying to the ones I already have someday


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Glad to see you're all still alive and well! Stay safe, be healthy, and enjoy whatever season you're in.

You slept less as you got older. Beau wished someone had told her that. The progenitors Lionett had bitched incessantly about her sleeping habits, but of course, the bloodless old nobodies must have just been getting to that age.

She didn't feel like she was going to get much sleep tonight. Maura was still looking a bit worse for wear, so with Jester's agreement she'd tapped her out of graveyard shift and let her have the next few hours to, she didn't know, play solitaire or just sleep some more. Honestly, Beau wasn't in touch with what people did for fun these days. Workouts and meditation were, quite honestly, it for her. The job kept her pretty busy. When she wasn't teaching, she was wrangling courts and committees, and when she wasn't doing either, she was too sick of thinking to bother with hobbies that needed a brain. Caleb had got her on to crosswords a while back, and now Jester had lent her some paper, but she dropped hobbies pretty quick.

Besides, she wasn't in the mood for thinking tonight. Probably the best way to wind down was to do some push-ups on the deck and pull-ups in the rigging, maybe try some deep-breathing exercises. Anaerobics would come in useful if they ran into any trouble out here on the water.

Their boat ploughed on through the waves in a way that you couldn't describe poetically. The seas weren't rough and the winds weren't treacherous, but they weren't the clear skies and swift breezes of the southern coast. Even the sky wasn't dark with thunderheads or the blue it was supposed to be. It had been covered most of the way with soft clouds spread evenly like goat cheese on toast. Every now and then their hull would slam down and skid over a wave or the sails would strain with a momentary gust. They swayed a bit, but never worryingly, just enough to make Maura sick. Beau had to keep her hair locked down in a complicated style that Jester had pinned with enough steel to arm a soldier. Between the salt, the grease, and the bobby pins, it was rock hard and perfect for the weather.

Above her, Jester had already climbed into the crows' nest. Her thick woollen cloak was flying out over the edge of the basket, blurring the whole assemblage into something that looked like a bat tucking in for the night. Or maybe a flying jellyfish, if you caught it from a different angle. There was just barely enough light left to see her by, though dinner wasn't too far past.

Beau took up her position between the wheel and the cabin entrance, planting her hands on the deck and walking her feet up the door to get in position, then lowering herself down. These weren't getting easier.

Still, she managed a good 20 reps or so without falling over or getting a splinter. Jes would call out to her if they needed any adjustments done to rudder, rope, or sails, or if any other problem presented itself.

Jes would normally have called out to her if she got bored, too, but that wasn't happening these days. She just sat there at the top of the mast and watched exactly like she was supposed to.

The only light left on board was a small oil lamp hung outside the cabin. It cast Beau's shadow down, but it wasn't even strong enough to light the wheel.

Beau would have managed more than 20 reps if she hadn't heard a very familiar voice in her ear.

"Caleb. Fjord has encountered organized raiding parties along the western coast. We will investigate this organization and stop what we can. Can you help us?"

With Jester having used Sending for updates on occasion, Beau knew how it worked. Caleb wouldn't be able to hear her lose her footing—handing?—and tumble out of her position. He wouldn't hear the thud of her feet on the deck or the crack of her back as it was forced into wheel position without any warm up.

He wouldn't hear her say "Shit!" in the loudest whisper she could muster.

It was _after_ the message finished and she had crawled back to standing that he would hear her. She thought for a moment, and started counting on her fingers. Force of habit.

"Beau. Jester, crew, and me are chasing slavers in a boat from the north to the cape and south. We'll talk. Send me in ten."

Twenty-five words didn't explain how Caleb had gotten all the way to the Coast without finding the right job, how he had found Fjord, or why the man who'd been retired for years was wrapped back up in adventuring. But, she couldn't do much either about how she had found Jester or why she was on a boat with a crew, when the job was supposed to be solo. Now that she thought about it, Jes and Caleb had a fight a while back, didn't they?

Nah. Not important right now.

Beau cleared the deck in a few easy strides and was up the rigging like a shot, swinging one leg over the edge of the crows' nest.

"What happened?" Jester asked her the moment she arrived. "I couldn't hear anything because there was so much wind, but I think I saw you talking to someone?"

"Yeah," Beau answered shortly. "Caleb called. He said he and Fjord ran into some raiders on the west coast. They were asking if we could help, so he'll Send me again soon. Anyway, he said they were organized, which I'm thinking doesn't mean Darktow."

Jester ducked down into the basket and pulled Beau down with her before she had a chance to resist. It'd be a damn tight squeeze if she weren't so bendy.

"'Raiders' doesn't always mean 'pirates' and Darktow wasn't even very organized when we were there. It won't be any better now."

"Pirates hit ships, don't they?" Beau mused. "The way he said it, seemed like they were on land. Probably in smaller towns, too. He would've said if it was Damali, or Zoon, or the ports, but he just said it was the west coast. You'd know more about it than I do."

Jester propped her hand against her chin, staring stony-eyed at Beau as she thought.

"There are a lot of traders along the coast, but I don't think any of them stop at the small towns. Everything from Tal'Dorei comes in to Damali, everything from the Empire goes to Nicodranas, and everything from there all goes to Zoon, so if they want money, they should be fighting there."

"There's more sea traffic these days," Beau continued. "Commercial, at least. Not as much naval traffic, either. It should be good pickings for pirates."

"I don't know, maybe."

Hazy pictures popped up in Beau's mind. Not that she'd ever been an intellectual, but you didn't get to be an Expositor without a bit of deductive ability. The pattern they formed wasn't pretty.

"Or, the merchants hired all the old military for security, which means the pirates went somewhere else. It's what we would've done. Still, there's not much reason to go inland, is there? Not when you can just wait for everything to get loaded on to a ship. Puts it all in one place. Makes it easier."

"You were the one who knows about merchants, not so much me," whispered Jester. "But, Beau, I think this is our guys."

"The slavers?"

"Think about it. What is in a town?"

They'd had the same hunch. Still, it didn't do to go around assuming things without some kind of reasoning.

"I know there's some wine growing around Zoon. It's probably too cold for it any further west, but wine grows in shitty soil, so you probably can't do much out there apart from some fruit trees, roots, maybe some olives. Fish? Animals? But then the mountains are pretty close by, so you don't have the space for grazers and it's hard to ship in feed. There's not much you can steal."

They looked at each other.

"People," said Jester.

Beau nodded, then popped up about the lip of the basket, scanning the horizon for anything that could have snuck up during the distraction. Dumb idea. Jester was the one with darkvision."

"How many times can you Send?" she asked, ducking down. "Also, can you see anything out there?"

This time Jes went up like a jack-in-the-box, looking back and forth before squeezing herself back in across from Beau.

"A few times. Not a lot. I need to go and sleep after, too, or I'll use too much power and then I have to start all over again."

"Okay."

"We'll use up all of Caleb's spells," Jes went on, "Then we use mine. Bharim probably has some too, but Caleb doesn't know him, does he?"

"We can ask, but I doubt it. He hasn't gone further than Zadash in years."

Jester seemed to consider this, then nodded sharply.

"Then that will work. He and Fjord have only themselves to protect, not a crew, and they have to have more options than we do. I know we have Uri and Bharim for cover, but I don't want to waste anything. Unless it's really bad, we can wait until tomorrow to do a lot of the talking."

"I understand. You keep an eye out here. I'll wake everyone up and ask if they know anything about the coast. Does that work?"

"Yes. Make sure you tell them to go back to bed, though, because I need Uri and Bharim to be charged up for tomorrow if we don't have me."

"Got it. I'll tell you what Caleb says."

They both got to their feet, realizing awkwardly just how little space there was in the crows' nest of a glorified fishing boat. Beau didn't wait to investigate that further. She vaulted back over the side and slid down to the deck, unhooking the small lamp from the wall as she prepared to go in.

She didn't need to ask if there was anything Jes wanted to say, to Caleb or Fjord. Either she did, and she could Send it herself, or she didn't, which suited Beau fine. Just fine.

Too fine, since Fjord was her best friend and Caleb was…Caleb, but all that meditation couldn't get rid of the basic fact that Beau hadn't been with Jester as long as she would have, and that Fjord had been there instead.

She walked through the cabin, kicking everyone gently to get them up. They tried to keep the noise to a minimum, even with nothing in sight.

"This is not an emergency," she stage-whispered, cutting off the confusion before it happened. "I just need to know anything specific about slavers or land raiders operating in the southwest or on the Menagerie Coast. There may be a change of plans."

In the cramped, dim space, she saw them all shut up and nod.

…

It took a few minutes for Beau to line everyone up and interrogate them—even if people wanted to help, she'd learned that you have to ask the right questions. Uri and the other two taken in the north knew less than Beau, but Prithi came from a family with connections on the Coast. She agreed with Jester that pirates usually kept to the water and smugglers were more worried about keeping quiet than taking prizes. She didn't know about this group, though. Jester had already told Beau she came up from the south, fighting along the way, so there was definitely _something_ fishy going on all over. None of them had heard any details, though. There were just rumours and stories of friends of friends of second cousins who had disappeared or seen someone doing something.

She sent them off to sleep then, telling them to worry more about their rest than about anything that might happen overnight. It would've been better if Jes had been the one to say it, but none of them seemed to take any offense. Uri even grumbled a "chill out yourself" at her. Sweet kid.

Then, she hung the lamp on its hook and swung back up to Jester in the dry, dead darkness of a cloudy night. She was still staring out ahead of them, one hand extended behind to keep the water flowing fast behind the ship, pushing them forward.

"They don't know much more than you, I think."

"So that's one more thing we know," Jester said smoothly.

Beau stayed holding the rigging this time, keeping an eye on the cabin door.

"'Ignorance is the first step on the path to knowledge.'"

"Is that the teaching of the Cobalt Soul?"

Tenet one of the Way of Knowledge, recorded by NianNai the Sage from an old tradition and handed down through centuries. Now, it was pretty common pedagogy, but she supposed everything had to be invented once.

"Yeah, they really tried to drill into me, I think. Didn't stick."

"Oh, don't say that!" protested Jester. "You were very ignorant when we met you, too."

Beau laughed. "You say the sweetest things. Is there anything you want to say to Caleb? You told me there's the same sort of decentralized trafficking thing down south, but were there any patterns? Something different?"

"No, I don't—not really." Jester's voice sounded far-off, but that's because she was speaking into the wind in the other direction. Simple. "What was really weird is that there were so many of them, but I guess if someone else is paying them, then that would make sense to have a lot of workers. They never knew a lot, so we just put them in prison or killed them if they were really bad."

"Okay. Caleb should be back in a minute."

The Cobalt Soul had all sorts of tips and tricks that Beau had picked up, and one of them was channelling your ki around you to keep out the weather. It had helped a lot these past few weeks, and she used it now, so the brisk sea wind wasn't doing anything to explain her goosebumps.

Sure enough, Caleb was back before she could think any more.

"Operations have been sabotaged somewhat. We'll prepare Yultia for uncertain attack. The Nein's network can hunt raiders down when we meet. I contacted the others."

Beau turned back and raised her voice, consciously letting the spell hang there.

"He said they've been messing with the raiders. They're in a town that was attacked, and they think the raiders might come back, but they don't know. He said they can't do a lot right now. I think he said that he was contacting the rest of the Nein? He probably doesn't have too many Sendings left. And, uh, he was saying that we—everyone he's talked to, I guess—should meet up to take down whatever this is."

There was a moment of silence as Jester processed the information.

"Ya, that sounds like fun! Just so long as everyone's okay with it, you know?"

Beau turned her attention back to the spell and counted out another message on her fingers. Technically, she could do it in her head, but Fjord wasn't around to make fun of her for fingers, so it wasn't worth the time.

"We're tracking the same guys around the cape. If the crew wants, we'll meet you there. We need spells for travelling, so Send us tomorrow."

There wasn't any reply to that. Fair enough. They weren't about to waste Jessie's power when what they really needed was to get out of here fast, and Caleb wouldn't waste his when he had a dozen other people to bother.

She should go back to the deck now and take up the usual spot, guard the crew and all that, but she was fast. If something happened, she'd be down there in a flash.

"Hey, Jes?"

"Ya?"

"You mind if I stay up here?"

"What," Jes said peevishly, "Do you think you have to ask, or something?"

Beau laughed again and climbed up to the basket, sitting on the front edge, opposite Jester.

"No. But I'm not always right."

"Oh, Beau."

When she waited for Jester to go on, she didn't. She'd been acting weird this whole time. Since when did she stop talking?

"What's that supposed to mean, huh?"

Jester's eyes flicked from the sea, to her, the back to the sea. She put her face in her hands.

"You've just—you're so _old_ now."

"Hey!" Beau spluttered. "I'm not old! Uri didn't even let me use the 'when I was a kid' line."

"I wasn't talking about that!" Jester sighed. "I'm sorry, Beau, I'm just thinking—it's been a long time since the Mighty Nein, you know? You're so grown-up now, it seems like, way older than Fjord or Caleb."

There wasn't a change that Beau noticed. Specifically, it was a change she had noticed but couldn't name for ages. The water had stopped skidding off the sides of the boat. The sounds that made up the night had eased down into a regular back-and-forth of wind and waves. Either the spell had run out, or Jes had let it go.

"Geez, thanks," said Beau, since it was easier than figuring out a real reply.

"In a good way. It's a good thing," said Jester, then added bitterly, "Trust me."

"You want to talk about it?"

"What 'it' are you talking about?"

Beau's back was starting to hurt, so she slid down into the basket, fitting her legs around the coil of rope that Jes has pushed aside.

"Well, whatever the reason is that you and Fjord aren't talking any more. I mean, I don't care," she said, regretting it immediately, "But it sometimes helps to just get it all out, right? Or not. Like, I know you've got your gang, but then you've got a whole bunch of background that you're trying to explain to them, so yeah. If you want to vent, go ahead."

She fiddled awkwardly with her hair as Jester stayed quiet, catching some of the bangs that got loose and trying to braid them together. It wasn't going great.

At length, Jester unpinned her outer cloak and re-fastened it around her front. A good part of it now covered Beau as well.

"If I'm going to talk about it, it's going to take a long time. You'll get cold. I don't get how you're still just wearing a tank top."

"I've got a coat, too."

"But it doesn't even have any sleeves! Honestly, it doesn't work."

"Fine, fine. You're the den mother, not me."

Beau tucked the cloak in around them both, leaning back as far as she could in this space. She barely got to 90 degrees.

"You know how Fjord and I were travelling."

"Yeah. Seemed like you guys were having a fun time." Beau paused. "Shit, sorry."

"No, it's okay!" giggled Jester. "We were, actually. Since, you know, he's got to go all over for his Paladin thing and I've got to keep going new places and messing with new people. It was really nice to be doing it with a friend. I mean, the Traveller's still my friend, but it's not the same, you know?"

"Makes sense."

"So, it was years that we were travelling together, ya?"

"I think so."

Caleb and Nott's family had settled down pretty quickly after the continent stopped needing them for damage control, and it wasn't too long after that that Fjord and Jester had split off. They'd all had their to-do lists. Yasha went north, Caduceus started his garden, and Beau had a job.

"It worked really well. And, I mean, we met a lot of people, but none of them really stuck? In the same way, I mean. Like, Iris and Nevin and Vlad and everyone still keep in touch, but we didn't really travel with anyone except each other. Probably we saw you most, since you were travelling more with your job and everything, but it was a lot of small meet-ups and nothing that was a lot for very long, ya?"

Beau found her thoughts falling quiet as she considered that. If Jester thought they'd seen the most of each other, then that painted one interesting picture…

"Fjord and Caduceus have some kind of thing where they can talk to each other," Jester went on, "But not really, but anyway for me it was just all the Sending that I did with you guys. So I was really happy Fjord was with me and you had time to visit us, sometimes."

"I'm glad it worked for you," said Beau, not quite lying. Absolutely, she was glad that Fjord and Jester were happy with their arrangement. "Sorry I couldn't drop by more often."

"Eh, it's fine. You always had work to do. But anyway, we were together, ya? We were together for years and it worked. So, I figured being married wouldn't be very much different. I mean, if it's never like it is in the books, then it's a good thing if you like each other and like to spend time with each other. It should be, right?"

Beau carefully swallowed down the shock.

"I think I missed something—you were dating, right? Or, you guys were in a relationship."

"Well, ya, but not like you mean," said Jester breezily. "We talked to each other and we were friends and we had sex, like, a couple of times, but he wasn't my _boyfriend_ or anything."

"Sure," said Beau, confused but not about to argue about it. "So…you decided to marry him because he seemed like the best option?"

"Ya, that's it! There wasn't anybody I could marry that I wanted to marry more, and if we were married it would mean I knew he'd always be there, right? I mean, we were together for years, so I didn't think there was anywhere else he wanted to be." Jester's voice cracked. "He never said there was anywhere else, and I was listening, right? I wanted him to know that I was always going to be with him, and—and I was going to be _there_ for him, I wasn't going to—to abandon him or anything."

Beau didn't understand much of what she was saying, but the logic was sound. Sound enough to step out on and follow.

"You're a good friend, Jes."

"But I'm not," sobbed Jester. "I didn't—he was so—like, maybe if he was confused, or happy, or sad, or even if he was mad, that makes sense! I asked if he wanted to get married and he just looked sick. He looked like he'd eaten three-week-old seafood and then went on a cart ride. He looked as bad as I think I ever saw him, Beau."

"Did he say anything?" Beau asked, tentatively placing a hand on Jester's arm.

"No. Or, like, he did, but it didn't make any sense. He was lying. To me! I never, _ever_ —he said he couldn't, like he was, you know, forbidden or something, but that's not true. Caduceus said so. There's no rules about it."

"Okay."

Jester scrubbed at her eyes. "I don't know how I got that far and he didn't ever say anything."

"What do you mean?"

"He was about to throw up when he thought about _spending more years with me_. He was sad for how many—I don't even know what was going on. But he was sad, and I never noticed, and whatever it was, he was so scared of telling me that he lied about it—" Jester heaved a bubbling breath. "I don't know. He didn't trust me. I didn't try enough. I didn't listen."

Beau sighed. What she and Fjord had going on was based in not asking questions. That was part of why she valued it so much. If she showed up in the middle of the night with a corpse and a bundle of carrots, he'd probably offer her a drink.

The downside to that kind of arrangement was that she couldn't say anything to Jes right now. Fjord's feelings were his own business, and…well, she had some ideas, but she didn't actually know why he had chosen what he did: to mumble something and run away, instead of explaining things to Jester.

"Listen, Jes," she said gently. "You're pretty perceptive. Maybe Fjord's good at hiding things, but I don't think he could've hidden it that long if he really didn't like being with you."

Jester's breaths were quieter now, a comfort to Beau as she tried to steer them into less fraught waters.

"Then why didn't he tell me the truth? If he just explained, I would have understood. I would have!"

"I don't know." Beau shrugged. "Did you explain why you asked him?"

"No," muttered Jester, folding her arms. "I would think it was obvious."

"Well, maybe he didn't understand you. If you want, you can talk it out with him. Or not. I feel like he'd listen, but I know what it's like to be—I know that sometime it's hard to put that all out in the open. Just tell me which one so I know what to say, okay?"

The part of Beau that still cringed away from any intimacy chose that moment to make her crack her neck, which made a long and drawn-out series of crunching noises that took everything serious out of the moment. Jester laughed.

"Wow, Beau, that sounds really bad."

"Thanks, I've been working on it."

"Do you want a massage?"

Beau just managed to catch herself before she said "no." After all, the crows' nest was pretty cramped.

"You offering?"

Jester nodded. "Just turn around and make sure you're facing forward, so I can watch you _and_ everything else."

She moved obediently, extricating herself from the bits of cloak and coils of rope that were wedged in around her. It wasn't graceful, but she managed something close to _seiza_ as she resettled herself, staring west out into the darkness.

"That good?"

"Yes, yes. You are all right if I do it hard, right? We practiced a bit with the group, but a lot of the girls were too sensitive."

"What? Nah, you can bring it."

Beau felt some regret as Jester's thumb immediately found a pressure point and jabbed at it, but she kept it together. Didn't even flinch. Well, just a bit.

"Huh."

"What is it?" asked Beau, as Jester laid into her with a force usually reserved for fights or interrogation.

"Oh, just…it's silly, but I almost forget you have a tattoo, you know?" Jester sounded far-off again, even as she spoke right into Beau's ear. "Or, it's there, but I don't really think about it."

"I guess so. I can't really see all of itit without doing some major contortion with a mirror. It's just a part of me."

"Well, part of you glows in the dark. I think. It might be just darkvision, but I really think so."

As Beauregard's and Jester went back and forth, their craft flew forward on shifting waters. The single lamp hung by the cabin door swung back and forth as each wave came, less a lamp and more a firefly as you draw further and further away. The night was dark but not, starless and moonless and still glowing with the faint grey light that travelled between snow and cloud.

It is impossible to tell from a distance whether any light glints off the eye on Beauregard's neck. However, anyone close by will get the impression that it watches out for her.

…

"Yeah, there's definitely a pattern."

Beau pored over the map she and the crew had put together. Drawn out on a grid by Jester's steady hand, it charted the route found in the maps the slavers had left behind and followed the coast, curving around to include the information collected by Caleb and Fjord and transmitted bit-by-bit to Beau. Jester, Prithi, and Maura had contributed what they remembered of their group's experience, fleshing out a few wide but consistent areas of activity. There were pick-up points at half a dozen spots along the southern coast, in addition to the one Beau had found. Some of the documents hinted at another one or two up north, but there were thinner pickings than in the south.

"Who all do we have right now?" asked Jester. "It's us, Caleb, Fjord, Yasha…"

"Caduceus is doing recon for now. He's agreed to meet up with us if we get into serious combat, Calianna said she'll keep a lookout and join in when we have more information," Beau listed off, "Essek is busy with other stuff he says might be linked. Bryce has signed on, but they've got to go through official channels. You know. Paperwork. Have you heard back from your dad?"

"No, I think he's still looking for volunteers. Little cells are good for keeping out of prison, but the coordination sucks when something new happens."

Beau crossed her arms behind her back, staring at the paper just to see if it would make something happen.

"Everyone's still all right with going in, right?"

"Ya, I said so. You can go ask them yourself."

"You're more likely to get a straight answer," she said absentmindedly. "We're not too far out. Less than a fortnight, maybe."

Jester stood up from her hammock and patted her firmly on the back.

"We were almost at the cape before Caleb called. It's not like we're going faster now, or anything."

"Still, I…haven't fought with a group in a while. A long time, actually."

"Old" she might be, but she didn't feel it. This was only as old as Caleb and Fjord were when they all ran into each other, and hell if she would have trusted them with everything at that age. Though, maybe, she had. It was hard to tell how much she stuck with the Nein for direction, protection, or just plain fun.

"If you're worried about all of us, don't be. We have two people that can heal, and we know a lot more now, right?"

Jes had a point. That didn't cancel out Beau's own experience.

"This is going to sound bad, but I can't take care of you all. Chances are I'll be at the front when we're in a fight, and I don't have eyes in the back of my head—"

"You just have one!" Jester interrupted. "Anyway, go on?"

A shiver rippled across her skin.

"It'll be easier for all of us if you're in charge of the group," she stated. "I can do plans, but in the heat of the moment we'll need someone to coordinate and I won't have the time. Are you okay with that responsibility?"

"Beau, you really have been working too long alone."

She looked up from the map, making sure to meet her eyes.

"I need a 'yes' or a 'no'."

Jester's face hardened. "Yes. Of course, yes. I haven't led a dozen of us for months, into fights and out of them, you know, just for nothing! I knew what I would have to do when you asked if we should fight. I have always been thinking about it, and I know you have too, but I talked to everyone about what we should do. We'll support you, Beau. You don't have to worry about us. Everything doesn't depend on you. The world keeps on turning even when you're asleep."

Sheepishly, Beau looked back to the map. The cramped space of the cabin, tossed awkwardly around the hammocks, table, crates, and Jester felt like it was getting up in her hair.

"Sorry. You're right, I didn't think—"

"You were doing what you have to be doing, which is doing everything alone. I did what I have been doing, which is think of how to keep us together. It's all right. That is why we are a team, right? That is why Caleb and Fjord need us?"

"Sure."

"That's okay, then."

The map wasn't giving her anything new to think about. All the worries she'd been keeping an eye on and tending since she saw Jester were just flowering now, filling her mind with all sorts of fun tableaux. She turned away, sitting heavily down on her own hammock after she'd emptied it of supplies and kicked her pack futher under it.

"No big risks while we've got the kids, yeah?"

"Ya."

"Yeah." She sighed. "You ever think about some of the stupid shit you did when you were younger?"

"Sometimes. A lot of the time it's funny."

Jes tapped her on the shoulder, sitting down next to her when Beau made space.

"True, yeah," she conceded. "That's not what I meant, though."

"I know," said Jester solemnly.

"So, do you?"

"Sometimes."

Beau pushed her foot against the planked floor, sending them swinging back and forth.

"There are times I think I shouldn't be here right now," she mused.

"That's not true—"

"Sorry, no, that came out wrong. I mean—I mean that I never thought I'd be this happy, yeah? I thought the best I could go for was, like, some kind of smuggling queen. Would've been cool, but I don't think you make too many friends in that job, you know. It's nice."

Jester looked at her quizzically. "My dad has lots of friends."

"True. That's true. I guess what I'm saying is that I'm glad things are like this."

There was a trace of strain around the edge of Jester's grin.

"You were always going to be happy, Beau."

"Funny. I thought that about you."

"Oh."

There was the waxy creak of rope against wood as Beau let them swing to a halt. She waited.

Jester got up. She turned to Beau with another warm, tight smile. "I'm just going to check on Maura, okay? I think she got better, but she needs to have some food and water or else she's going to get even worse."

"Sure. Caleb should be calling soon. I'll stay down here and give him the update."

She watched from the corner of her eye as Jes climbed back up to the deck, where Maura had been throwing up while the rest of the crew went about their jobs.

Something was up with Jester. She'd felt it, and this time, she couldn't just put it down to middle age or even an argument with Fjord. It was nothing that would put them in danger, so Beau wasn't about to go confront her about it, but, well, she sure wished Jester would at least stop acting over it.

She could trust Beau. She had to know that.

Looking down at the map, she realized she hadn't been reading it at all. Damn. But, really, there wasn't anything to worry about. Jester would take things at her own pace, and she'd talk to Beau when she felt like it. Better for Beau just to concentrate on the urgent stuff.

Things were pretty good right now.

…

"Ship—I mean, boat spotted, Captain!" yelled Bharim from the bow. "One sailor, looks to be a half-orc."

"That'll be them!" Beau shouted in reply.

She bit her lip, then set her knucklebones down on the deck where she, Prithi, and Uri were playing on a small square of spare sailcloth. She hopped to her feet. The boat looked pretty similar to what they had set out in, but it wasn't the same. Along the sides of the deck they had stacked the makeshift spears tied together from the slavers' blades and any planking they could spare. Down below, the cabin was empty but for a table, supplies, and two hammocks. Only the crew knew about the false wall, which could be opened up to show the place where most of them slept. It was cramped, but with two crew members needed on deck at all times, the remaining five could fit in there if needed.

Mostly, though, it was the colourful graffiti swimming over every hidden surface that marked it as different.

Beau grinned at her students. "Sorry, kids, I've got to go."

"You were losing, anyway," said Uri unhelpfully.

Prithi snickered, then added, "You have been distracted."

"Don't call me that, it's rude."

Beau reached down and ruffled her hair beore heading down to the stern, where Jester stood. She stared out west over the sea, pushing them through the water with practiced motions.

"You heard?" Beau asked, walking up beside her.

"I heard," answered Jester.

"You ready?"

"Of course I'm ready! I knew they were coming, you know."

Jester was playing at indignity, but Beau knew her better than that.

"Look," she said awkwardly. "I know it's not great timing, but you don't need to worry. I don't think either of them could blame you for…whatever happened with you guys, and I know they don't want to."

Their grey-green wake trailed out behind them, the occasional fish or dolphin leaping high above it. The fog had cleared from the other day, leaving them a view of the greener coastline. It was a hell of a thing to see. By the time they rounded the cape, it was basically winter in the north. Jester kept her hands moving like some kind of—like the jellyfish, that she had told Beau about in detail, that they'd seen one night or two on the _Mystake_ —tracing shapes in the air that swelled and flowed like they were alive.

"I did call Fjord a liar and I did so something to hurt him, _and_ Caleb has been trying to avoid me for a year."

"Yeah, you probably hurt Fjord a bit, but Caleb's sensitive. Besides, I, uh, it's a safe bet that we've all hurt each other, I think."

"You haven't hurt me, Beau." Jester frowned a bit, muttering something that Beau couldn't hear over the wake. "You don't really do that a lot."

"Jes," she laughed, "I hurt people for a living."

Jester kicked her on the shin, not noticing the irony.

"You don't, and even if you do, it's not, you know, personal."

There it was again, that same kind of wistfulness that had been dogging them this whole time. Beau put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"You know that's not true. You can forgive me for when I hurt you because I'm trying to be better. I can forgive you for when you hurt me because _you_ always tried to be better. Always. And most of the time, it wasn't even your fault." She took a deep breath, trying hard not to sound serious. It wasn't working for her. "What are you afraid of?"

With anyone else, that would've been a rhetorical kind of question, but she trusted Jes to know that it was real.

"You've known it all the time," sighed Jester, "Haven't you."

It wasn't the answer she'd been expecting.

"Uh, I—I know you still feel like you've got unfinished business with the boys," she managed, "But that's not what you were talking about, were you?"

"No."

Through this whole voyage, they'd avoided the subject, but now it felt like they needed to talk this out. Just for the few moments before the world crashed back down on them.

"If you want to say anything, I'll listen."

They passed a few minutes side-by-side, looking out over the sea. Between the wind and the foaming water, it was as loud as peaceful could get.

Finally, Jester spoke up in a voice so small it barely existed.

"I'm afraid of going back to normal."

Beau didn't answer right away. She should know to think about the meaning, not the words.

"So," she said slowly, "What's 'normal' for us?"

"You know, normal. What we've always been doing, I go and do my thing and you go and do your thing and Nott stays and does her thing and Caduceus stays and does _his_ thing, ya?"

"Yeah, so, you're always following the Traveller, wherever that takes you. I'm on secret business now, but I haven't always been. Hell, we spent a couple of years tripping between war zones. How could anything after that be normal?"

It was easier to do this kind of thing here, where she didn't have to see the look on Jester's face. As it was, she was shrinking.

More than anything, Beau wished she could comfort her, but that hadn't helped so far.

"Then I'm afraid that I'll have to go back and do what I'm supposed to do. You know, find more people for the Traveller but on my own or with Fjord, maybe find some guy and get married, all of that, and you'll be off somewhere else. But I don't want to be with Fjord again! Not like that. I mean, I love him, but…he's Fjord. I don't know. But then I don't want to find someone new and be with them, either."

"You're afraid that you'll be doing something that you don't want to do."

A thin spray of water hit her arm as a seabird soared by overhead. Beau wiped it off.

"Yes, that's it."

"Then why don't you do what you want to?" Beau asked, deliberately slow. "Isn't it that simple?"

Jester stamped in frustration, arms still shaping the spell. Beau could see she was close to tears again.

"I want to be with you all again. But Fjord won't leave the coast, and Nott and Caleb stuck in Felderwin, and Caduceus has his gardens, and Yasha's away and you—I can't stop travelling, and I can't ask you all to come with me, because that would be unfair."

"You want us to be the Mighty Nein again?"

"I _guess_."

"Because I think for this job, we'll need to pull everyone in. Yasha's already coming. Caleb too."

A sinking realization dropped down through Beau's throat as she saw Jester's face screw up. The feeling settled in her gut. It wasn't unfamiliar.

"I—I want us to be the Mighty Nein again, but really, I—I—I—"

Beau stopped her. "You don't have to say anything."

"I do!" protested Jester. "If I get off this ship and I go back with Fjord, then you'll go back and I don't want you to leave. Not again."

Her voice didn't even crack, her face didn't scrunch up, but she was crying now.

"See? I have hurt you."

Jester blinked, eyes still fixed on the water as she moved them forward. She had work to do, so Beau just hugged her from behind.

"It's nothing you did," she heard her whisper.

"Ah, ah, not quite," Beau said shakily. "I made you feel like you couldn't ask me to stay."

"I shouldn't. I won't leave the Traveller, you won't leave the Order. It makes sense."

"Who says we can't work together? You and me, roaming the countryside, bringing justice! Isn't that what we do?"

"You'd do that? For me?"

Beau bit back tears of her own, resting her head against Jester's.

"Oh, Jes."

"What? Is there something funny?"

"You don't know how much I've missed you, do you?"

"No," said Jester, and it sounded honest.

Letting go, Beau glanced at her to make sure of something. It wasn't a chore.

"Well," she said at length, "After we've caught up with the boys and we've figured out a plan, then I can maybe tell you." Beau clapped her on the shoulder. "Are you okay just following Fjord, or would you rather he come up here and give us the directions straight?"

"I can follow him, if you can make sure we're on track, yes?"

"All right. And if you're, uh, serious about that whole thing, we'll talk about it later. Promise."

"Okay. But not too late, you know?"

"I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, folks! At least they talked about some of it. We'll hear Jester's side of her tiff with Caleb soon enough. As for what happened with Fjord, we now know what went down and why it did. Jester and Fjord both liked to be with each other as friends. With Jester's casual approach to sexuality, that maybe involved a few benefits, but that wasn't a bit deal. Fjord, of course, didn't want to make her feel uncomfortable about it. Jester wanted to give a bit of stability and assurance to their partnership, so she figured she may as well marry Fjord to show her commitment to their friendship, since she knows he's insecure about people leaving him. Contrast Fjord, who has been reluctantly tolerating a liaison once or twice a year because he feels guilty about not wanting any, staring down the barrel of a permanent romantic and sexual relationship with Jester and feeling appropriately sick to the stomach. This is why we communicate, folks.
> 
> I promise, there will be more talking in the future! But if we have to go through chapters and chapters of Caleb and Fjord dancing around each other, Beau and Jester deserve at least a few thousand words of awkwardness. 
> 
> In light of recent events, I sign off with: free Jester and Caleb. They each deserve a good story, and they deserve far better than to be shoved together like square pegs in round holes.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter! Sorry for the delay!
> 
> Hope you all stay safe and have have an entertaining July. Comments and feedback keep me going!

Fjord let the winds carry him right up and on to the beach, trusting Beau to know the ship better than he did. From the looks of it, they'd still need to drop anchor before the sand rose.

Their camp was the same as he'd left it this morning. No sign of life, just a copse of mixed trees and a thin strip of beach at the foot of a short bluff.

He hesitated for a moment, remembering that Caleb should have had time to at least call for help if something happened, then grabbed the thick rope coiled up near the bow. It was quick work to scrabble up the sandy slope and tie off around one of the trees. By his calculations, they should be near low tide. No need to drag it up further.

Work done, he looked back at Beau's…it was too large for a boat, it was too small for a ship. Whatever it was, a rope led off from it into the water. He could see Beau and a black-haired girl—Prithi or Maura, he couldn't remember which was which—working away on something at the bow, while a pale tiefling—that had to be Uri—slouched around, checking whatever was stored on deck.

"You are ahead of schedule," said Caleb from somewhere near his ear. Anyone else would have jumped; Fjord just stopped breathing. "By three quarters of an hour."

"You little shit," he muttered. He pushed a hand out beside him in a shove, connecting with the shoulder of a man who he could have sworn wasn't there. "Yeah, I didn't have to hop aboard."

"Well, it is good to see our friends."

"Mm," Fjord non-answered. "I see you got the barrier up and running?"

On board the ship, he could see that Beau had strapped something to her back and called Jester up from wherever she'd been. After a moment's consultation, Jester and the black-haired girl crouched down, Beau stepping up on to their hands. On the count of three, both stood and Beau jumped, the plank ladder unfolding from her back. She landed with a splash in the shallows, then hopped up the beach in a few quick leaps.

"Nice to see you guys," she said breezily.

"Good to see you too, Beau," he returned.

"It is nice to have you dropping in so soon."

"Hah," she breathed, "Well, you might not be saying that after a few more months together."

"Maybe." Fjord glanced to Caleb instinctively, and for some reason he found him looking back.

Beau, who didn't seem to notice but who probably did, shoved the ladder into Fjord's hands. "How about some help, first mate? I need to pull this taut."

"Sure thing, captain."

"Could I be of any assistance, Beauregard?" Caleb asked.

"Not really, but you can help if it makes you feel better."

"It does not."

The two of them dug their heels into the loose dirt, getting the tension in the ropes up high enough to be steady, and hiked inland a few feet before tying off the ladder. It was clever, actually. The beach was so short that it was only thirty, forty feet from the tip of the bow to the shore, so with a single ladder they could make a bridge across.

Beau hopped up on the ladder, testing it with a foot. It wobbled and nearly tipped her over the side, but she didn't flinch. Back on the ship, the crew had all gathered up at the bow, watching their progress.

"So, you want to do this out here, or up there?" she asked.

Fjord shrugged. "If we want a camp, it's best to set up while we still have daylight."

"Should we try?" asked Caleb. "Here it is secluded, I have made sure, but we should not prepare to make a base here if we do not need one. Better to move fast."

"Up on the boat, then," said Beau. "I'll give you the introductions, and we can get to planning. Once we've done that, we can decide how long we're staying here. All right?"

"Good idea," said Fjord. "I'll just grab our paperwork, if that's all right."

Beau nodded smartly at them. "Need a spare pair of hands?"

He glanced to Caleb.

"It would not hurt, certainly," said Caleb for him.

…

Once Beau had pooled their information on the table in the main cabin, it didn't take long to decide on a plan. Or, it didn't take long for everyone to agree with her plan.

Honestly, there wasn't much to it. Their crew had been moving flat-out to get out of the danger zone before any serious storms or ice blew in. The rations already on board had lasted them some time, with Jes and Bharim filling in where they could, but the fact was that the choice was always between speed and food.

She had laid it for the newcomers. They were a small crew with a few top-shelf fighters and a few house label ones. Against any crew, they had the advantage in strength but not in numbers. They could wait for more reinforcements, from Yasha and anyone Calianna could find, but the big guns would be a long time coming. The information on ship movements they had from what Beau had decoded was shooting towards its sell-by date and Caleb and Fjord's intel was better, but less complete. Waiting here for more than a week or two would blow their advantage without gaining anything.

The best chance they had of helping was to find whoever was in charge of the money. They didn't have enough people to take on the individual slave ships or to hop around saving travellers. What they _could_ do was track down the person or organization handling the payment and cut off the flow. It all comes down to the money. Sure, a few of the slavers might do it for fun, but tracking down and hunting people was expensive and risky without a big group.

So. They and the boat—they really did have to name it—were going to go hell-for-leather to some of the larger towns near Zoon for rations. Once they'd loaded up, they had to navigate the maze of reefs and rocks laid out in the slavers' maps to the RV point, some ways out to sea in the lee of an uncharted island. Caleb and Uri would scope out the situation the moment they saw another ship come into view. If Beau's suspicions panned out and these guys were intermediaries, they could take them out at a distance. Bharim would bowl them over with a wave and Jester could take a boarding party there through one of her doors. Caleb would get the papers; Beau, Jester, and Fjord would beat down the crew. Once they were weak enough, Caleb could send them to sleep. Smooth enough.

Of course, none of it was going to happen like that. They'd have to be ready to run and hide. They'd have to be ready to kill all of them. The kids onboard refused to leave, but they'd have to keep them out of harm's way. Jester had already pulled Bharim aside and asked him to be ready to take them out of danger if things went south.

She was pretty sure they could do it. Pretty sure.

All that was to say that they spent a day and a night docked there. Jester, Olina, and Maura went out into the woods with the two handaxes on board to get some lumber for fires or basic repairs while Fjord took Bharim gathering any useful plants they could. The two of them were getting on pretty well as they set out. Beau had sent Prithi and Uri out with a list of odd jobs, but that was mostly just to get them out of the way. They'd be gossiping and playing around in the rigging, more like, but they'd have some work soon doing an inventory of the new supplies.

That left her and Caleb working over contingencies at the stern.

"What kind of magic did you guys run into, then? You said it wasn't too bad, but anything that works at a distance could screw us."

Caleb's eyes unfocused, like they always did when he was pulling something out from memory.

"No devotees of which I was aware, certainly no paladins, one that could have been a source of magic or a wizard, one that had a pact but which was not so powerful as even Fjord's was. I do not think, though, that this represents what we will see as we go up the ladder."

Beau made another note on the crowded sheet of paper she had laid out on her knees.

"Yeah, I figured. Any guesses as to who we _will_ run into?"

"I would figure some that have deals with lesser creatures of magic. Natural wielders are rare, though we cannot count them out. Whether a trained mage will be there depends on who our ultimate buyer is and how much control they have in more official realms. There may be some followers of dark gods. Oh, and arcane musicians are unlikely."

"Huh. You can't tell which type they are, though."

"Not in most cases."

Caleb twisted his hands around, slipping loops of string from each finger to the next. Fidgeter that he was, he'd been playing cat's cradle since they settled back here to plan more.

"Guess you'll just have to get lucky."

"I can figure it out quickly once we enter battle."

Beau clicked her tongue against the top of her mouth. "Yeah, like I said."

"We cannot plan for everything, Beauregard."

Now that she was paying attention, Caleb was getting antsy. Weird thing. The guy could focus endlessly, but if he had something on his mind then he couldn't stay on topic for ten minutes.

"We've got to plan at some point in time," she stated. "I'm not winging this when we've all got homes to get back to."

"Yes, but you have had days, and we _will_ have days before it all hits the fan. Come on, we have not talked in months. Surely you have time to spare for a chat?"

He offered her the complicated web of knots strung between his skinny fingers. Beau sighed. It wasn't too cloudy out, the wind was low—you could almost say it was a nice day.

"Okay, but we're still doing this later."

Setting aside the paper, she tried to figure out what the next shape was. She'd played this game as a kid, everyone had, but—that was a long time ago.

"You must use your pinkies for this one," Caleb said unhelpfully.

"Patience, grasshopper. What d'you want to talk about, anyway?"

"Can two old friends not simply spend time together?"

Beau ventured a guess at the right movements, trying to ignore Caleb's smirk as she produced something a little more tangled than she remembered.

"We were already spending time together," she corrected. "You wanted to talk."

"I suppose you are right. How has your journey been?"

That was a cop-out if she knew anything, which she did.

"How do you think? It was pretty smooth off from HQ until I got north of Rexxentrum, same as you'd expect. I hitched a ride with some family who were shipping salt up there, but we didn't talk much. I think they thought I was some kind of criminal. They didn't ask too many questions."

"You are some kind of criminal."

"Sure, but not, like, a bad criminal."

Caleb nodded sagely as she finally put the string right, forming a basic star-like pattern.

"As I recall," he said, "You were very good at it."

"I was, wasn't I?"

"Were you able to find what you were looking for?"

She shrugged, letting him pick the string apart and lift it off her hands.

"Yeah. There aren't so many people that far north that they don't notice if someone goes missing. They actually had some snow up there, so I was skiing part of the way. It's pretty good exercise."

"I could do without it."

"Hah, you probably could. Anyway, I caught the creep, I got myself caught, I got dragged up to the boat, I got a chance to get a bit more exercise. It wasn't anything like the Iron Shepherds, though. They were organized. These guys were just doing it for some extra cash, or mine were, at least. It wasn't too bad. Reminds me of the old days."

She hadn't meant anything by it, but Caleb had flinched. Visibly. He narrowed his eyes.

"We are all a lot like the old days, here."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we are back together. We are not tied back to anything."

He did have that habit of not knowing what he was saying to people, so she let it slide. The little twerp. At least he was handing her over a simpler shape now, one that she actually recognized.

"Speak for yourself, but I've got a job that I'm doing right now. I don't plan on quitting."

"I—you know that's not what I meant," said Caleb peevishly.

Beau chuckled. "I know. What did you mean, though? There's something on your mind you haven't been telling me."

"Oh, well, I suppose it is no harm now," sighed Caleb. "I have just—I was regretting that I had lost contact with our friends. Nott is so close to me, obviously, but…spending the rest of my life with her is so difference from spending the rest of my life _without_ you, understand?"

However many years he had on her, Beau reflected, Caleb was slower on the uptake in a lot of things. Made sense. She had to reckon with everything the 'rents said from the time she was five. _He'd_ had everything fed to him on a platter. It was hard to break out of what you were taught. Even if it doesn't make a lot of sense.

She handed the new shape—she was sure it was a boat—back to Caleb.

"Sure. Why else do you think I'm doing this?"

"Pardon?"

"This job, I mean," she explained. "I could be pulling in a good salary on permanent station somewhere, but I always have a reason to travel around. It's why I'm still in touch with most of you."

Caleb gave her a puppy-eyed look. This was why she forgave him his tresspasses, kind of thing. For some reason, he still seemed to…look up to her? Something like that. It didn't make sense, but there wasn't any other kind of explanation for it.

"Sometimes I think you might be the smartest one of us."

"If you think that, it's definitely not you."

"Oh?" Caleb cocked his head, looking something like a bird.

"If you were, you'd say it was Caduceus."

After Caleb had finished laughing, he slid the string on to her fingers.

"You have me there, friend."

"Well, it's your fault for leaving it wide open. So you got lonely, is that it?"

The moment's pause told her that it wasn't. Time for the big guns: specifically, the stare she'd honed on a few classes at HQ. She levelled it at Caleb like a crossbow, putting down the string.

"Not…quite," he said.

"Go on."

"I, uh, well, to be quite honest, I have seen you often enough, and Caduceus, which is very nice, so, uh, I wasn't just lonely."

Caleb crossed his arms, uncrossed them, tapped his foot, straightened his coat. He didn't seem to notice. Beau knew she had her own tics.

"This have anything to do, does it, with whatever went down between you and Jester?" she tested.

"No. Uh, well, maybe. I am not sure. Sort of. Yes. But no, not directly."

"That makes sense, actually."

"It does?"

Fear was leaking off him like some weird kind of fog. Normally, she couldn't see as much as Jester and Caduceus, but this was hard to miss. She didn't see why. He seemed a lot happier now than he'd been before he left. Maybe it wasn't fear, then. Embarrassment? His ears were red, though whether from sunburn, exposure, or anything else, she couldn't tell.

Beau just nodded. She didn't know what went down, but she knew Caleb and she was sure she knew Jester. "What was it, then? Sounds like you need to get it out sooner or later. You're stuttering like Nott used to."

"I am, I suppose." He deflated the rest of the way, catching his head in one hand. "It was Fjord."

"What was Fjord?"

Caleb sighed, running a hand through his hair more than a few times, trying to tuck pieces that just weren't long enough behind his over-large ears.

"You really are going to make me say this. Well, I said some things to Jester that were well-meant, but I stepped over a line there."

"Hey—"

"I realized very quickly that I was in the wrong," he interrupted, raising his hands defensively, "Or, that I had said things in the wrong way."

She let him go, kicking back up against the side of the boat. "Sure. Sounds like you."

"Pardon me, I'm sure. It, uh, took me a while longer after our discussion realize I would not be friends with Fjord forever if I did not fix things now. Jester might forgive me, since it was her I spoke to, but I cut him off without ever saying why. So. I needed to see Fjord."

He said it with a conviction she didn't see in him often, bleeding through all the nervous movement.

"Seems that went well," she said.

"I—yes, it did. I think it did. He—I have not said all I meant to say, of course, but I think it will be all right. I am willing to accept whatever happens, now that I have come clean."

"Well then. I'm happy for you."

Slapping him on the arm, she gave him a firm smile. He beamed back at her.

"Thank you, Beauregard." He stared at her for a second. "And for yourself?"

"Mm?"

"Well, you said you were happy before I left the Empire. I was…happy, but not fully so. Are you happy still?"

Sitting on the edge of the sea on a half-warm day, waiting for her friends to come back with some food, the answer was simple enough.

"Yep. It's kind of an ongoing thing."

"I am glad. Is there anything you would change?"

"What are you getting at?"

She had a sudden sinking feeling as he looked furtively back towards the rest of them. No one was close enough to hear, and Prithi and Uri were both too caught up in a game of cards to try.

"I do not 'get' at anything," Caleb insisted. "Can I not make sure my younger sister does not repeat my mistakes?"

That was it. She cocked her head to the side, eyeing him for any mischief.

"You do have something in mind, then," she elaborated.

"You have spent some time with Jester."

Beau narrowed her eyes at him, sitting up straighter.

"Yep. She's a friend," she said casually. "I should introduce the two of you, sometime."

"Do; I hear she's a lovely person," he shot back. "I just thought, well, you have not taken on any partners, yes?"

"Hey, I get laid!"

Caleb rolled his eyes at her, earning himself a look. The nerve of the man.

"Don't give me the details," he muttered. "Is it that you don't want a girlfriend, then? Or does nobody want to stay after the breakfast you cook for them—"

She already had her bracer off by the time he got halfway through, aiming and swatting him with it before he finished the sentence. He was too slow to dodge. It didn't take much to grapple him and mess up his hair.

"Just because you're an terrible date doesn't mean I am, stink man!"

Caleb answered pretty easily for a guy in a headlock.

"Yes, I suppose you are right. Seriously, though, now may be the time to, you know, make your move…"

He fluttered his hands around in some weird gesture that she didn't understand and didn't want to.

"Caleb, she just broke up with Fjord. Whatever I'm still feeling for her, that's my problem, right?"

"First, it was many months ago," he insisted, "If not a year, and secondly, they were not together. Not like—"

Releasing him, she shook her head. This was going somewhere she hadn't been, and probably shouldn't.

"Nope, stop right there. I'm planning to talk to Fjord about a few things, too," she explained.

"Make sure you do, then," said Caleb. His eyes were hard now. "I know it is good to be friends, so—if you love more than she knows—"

"I said that's my problem!" she hissed. Why was he doing this now? What did he care?

"Just listen to me. I've—all this time I have been content and—and loved and still wanted _more_ and, of course, I never said anything and I—I regret so much of it. _So_ much. I would never try to take that choice from you, but I believe you should talk to her. Please."

Something clicked into place, slipping down her back like an unwelcome ice cube from a younger brother as Caleb looked away.

"Loved who?"

"Fjord."

"And have you told him?"

"He should understand," mumbled Caleb.

She leaned in, glancing forward to make sure there were no eavesdroppers. Honestly, she was a bit disappointed that none of the kids had tried.

"So you haven't," she said.

"Not as such."

"Then you can't tell me anything."

Caleb's face knotted up, looking sad as hell and worried, too. The man didn't know how to get out of his emotions.

"Maybe. But, trust me when I say that I know it would not help me to say it. He would not feel the same. He could not. And I would not know this if I had not seriously sat down and _tried_ to speak."

"I'll wait to ask him myself, thank you very much."

"Wait, please—"

He was almost panicking now, so she pinned him down with a hand on his shoulder. She wasn't going to be mean, now, just because he meant well. But he was always trying to mess with people's lives. For good or bad.

"Don't worry, don't worry. I won't say anything about you. Just—don't be a hypocrite. It's a bad look on you." She shook him, in a friendly kind of way. "Get to know the crew, why don't you? I'm going to see where Jessie's at with the woodworks."

"I'm sorry, Beauregard. I won't mention it again."

"Do you really want me to hold you to that?"

Caleb laughed nervously. "Not very much."

She stood, ready to leave, then stopped. Looking back, she saw Caleb holding the same string he'd been playing with, weaving a sort of bridge between his hands.

"You and Fjord, huh?"

"No," said Caleb quietly. "Whatever he feels, it is not that."

"Okay. But why didn't you tell me sooner?"

With that, she left Caleb to stew. She couldn't say it wasn't just a little bit satisfying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caleb you emo bitch


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I......am going....to finish this........even if it kills me. I regret to say that no new characters will be showing up, but I would hope there are enough plates in the air already. Thank you all so much for the feedback! You guys keep me on the document and keep the characters in line accordingly <3

It had taken years and years of practice for Beau to go from "pretty quiet" to "totally silent" when she walked, but she'd made it. Enough sneaking around official places and enough work done on your sandals could do wonders. She stepped from root to root to bare patch of dirt on the forest path, creeping up behind the tall figure bent over a patch of grasses, picking leaves and stowing them in an oilskin pouch.

Keeping at an angle where her shadow wouldn't cross him, she crept up and tapped Fjord on the arm. That got him leaping straight up like a landed fish, staring around at her wild-eyed.

"Hey, my man!"

Beau opened her arms wide for a hug, reeling a little when Fjord fell right into them.

"You little shit. How's my first mate doing?"

"It's captain now, boat boy," she shot back. "I'm pretty great."

She kept her hands on his shoulders when he pulled away, holding him at arm's length for an up-and-down. The armour was rough, sure, but he looked better than he had the last time. No hunch in his shoulders, no fake grin. He was smiling just enough for it to be real.

"You look great," he laughed. "That a new jacket?"

"Sure thing! Northern sheepskin, homemade by some old man in a rocking chair."

Fjord nodded calmly, finding a broad tree trunk to lean back against. She'd escaped Caleb to come find him before he finished up and returned to teh ship. Better to have a little privacy out in the woods, she figured. Plus, it was his home turf.

"Do you think he might do mail-order?" Fjord asked, actually admiring it.

"Nah, but you could always head over that ways," she answered. "Yasha could probably do with a visit."

Beau had scanned the area as she got here for likely candidates, and she found one in a tree with a good knothole just above hip height. She scrambled up to take her seat in the low fork it had around two metres up, which put her knees at a level with Fjord's head.

"So, I hear I owe you a chat?" he asked.

"Yeah. I know we've been sending letters, but—" She shrugged. "Hard to find time when we're always on the road, you know?"

Fjord reached beneath his cloak, grabbing something out of a pocket and sticking it in his mouth to chew on. Mint, she hoped. Did they grow tobacco around here?

"Tell me about it. Where d'you want to start?" he asked.

"Let's not do the heavy stuff, please. I've just been talking shop with Caleb."

Rearranging herself was a bit more trouble than she'd expected, but now she could just about see the sea from where they were. With Caleb, right, you really had to stare at if you wanted the truth, but with Fjord you were better off averting your eyes. It was something about the watching, she figured. If he knew you were paying attention, he made sure to cover up.

Jes it was somewhere in between. When she lied, she'd decided to do it whatever you thought. It didn't matter if you bought it. They were stories that she'd committed to, not just nails from the toolkit of conversation.

"He's not so bad these days, is he? A lot less ominous," Fjord said evenly.

"Hah, I don't know," she lied. "He's always the same nuisance to me. So, are there any, uh, good books you found lately?"

He actually jumped, steadying himself against the tree as she sniggered.

"Don't even go there," he groaned. "At least let me rest until Jester gets me."

"Hey, hey, don't worry, I didn't mean that."

"Thank god."

They looked at each other, and then they laughed until Beau was just about to fall off.

"You know," she wheezed, "I kind of forgot what people do for fun these days."

"Me too."

He looked away from her, sliding down to sit cross-legged at the base of the tree trunk. Twilight was coming in early this late in the year. In the light that was left this late in the afternoon, she could still see his shoulders fall back without any hint of tension.

"Tell me what's made you so happy, why don't you."

Time to see if he'd be as honest with her as Caleb was prepared to be.

"Funny you should ask. I've been having a bit of a breakdown, lately."

"Oh?"

He sounded calm as anything, which piqued her curiosity even more.

"I don't—" Fjord paused, as if he were thinking about something. "Oh, you probably know. It's been hard. I was trying to keep alive the wild, but it felt like everything I did got undone. There was nothing I could do that lasted and—I don't know."

She prodded at that thought. "Maybe it felt like you'd given your whole life over to nothing, eh?"

"Go easy on me, Beau."

"Nah, you're right. I had mine when I was twenty-some, but I still remember."

It was a hell of a thing to deal with at the time. Now, though, she was glad of how young she was when she realized parents should be something other than hollow, loveless shells and that everything she'd been taught about life was worth jack squat. Fjord had already done that, though, or so she'd thought. A few times. Because he'd been an orphan first, hadn't he, and then a sailor, then a magician, then a knight. He went through lives like clothes.

"Oh. I see," he said quietly. "That makes sense."

"So, what, you figured it out?"

"I think. I talked it over with—well, really, I talked about it _at_ the Mother. She released me. I think. I've still got all my powers, but…I stopped."

Beau took to cleaning dirt out from her fingernails with the edge of a leaf. It kept her concentrated on the matter at hand.

"Huh," she said eloquently.

"Yeah," answered Fjord.

"What's this, then?" she asked, gesturing toward the sea.

"I didn't say I was going to stop helping people, I just—I'm not going to try big things. Whatever I can do, that'll be enough. Maybe…"

Fjord trailed off. He was staring hard at nothing, or whatever was sitting out beyond the edge of the sea.

"Maybe what?"

"Caleb's said he'll travel with me if I need help. I'm not sure if he really knows what he's offering, but I'll take him up for as long as he's wiling." Fjord's stare slipped down to his boots. "Don't know what we'll do after this. But it'll be something."

Beau nodded. "You're retiring, then."

"I guess you could put it that way. What about you? Does this even count as Expositor business?"

It was subtle, shifting the topic without really swerving. Kudos to him. He hadn't lost his skills. Beau squinted as the sun came into a clearing, shooting down between clouds and canopies to land right on her face.

"Not as such, but technically I'm still on the case. You don't get this kind of trafficking without official money somewhere," she explained. "It's been a while, but I've been watching myself. I don't want to burn out again. I don't plan to."

"Is that what all this teaching's about, then?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

Fjord looked up, smirking at her.

"Well, it looks like it's working. You're not even breaking a sweat, here."

"You're just saying that. I still have my moments when I'm alone in a locked room."

"I know, I know. But feels good to have that kind of control over yourself."

Control…laziness…fear of consequences…yeah. This was steering into less comfortable territory for her, even if it was better for Fjord. She was happy. Wasn't that enough?

"Yeah. So, uh, you and Caleb," she managed. "Didn't know you guys were getting on so well."

There was absolutely nothing in Fjord's face or shoulders that tolde her anything about how he'd interpreted that.

"Oh, yes. I thought so, too," he said vaguely. "But apparently I had him wrong."

"How so?"

"He said he'd never wanted to marry Jester."

Beau nodded to herself, feeling a bit too much satisfaction.

"That tracks," she said.

"Hm. It does, does it?"

He was fishing for some kind of answer, which she wasn't about to give him. Caleb had asked her a favour.

"Sure."

"Good," Fjord said firmly. "You know how he is. He seemed sincere, but—I really did miss him. It seems stupid that he'd get so worked up over a misunderstanding."

"Really?" She chuckled. "Caleb?"

"Okay, you're right. Still."

A faint wind stirred up the branches of the trees, whispering to them both.

"Relax," she said. "If you've worked it out, you've worked it out. Don't waste more time screwing yourself up over it."

"I guess you're right. There anything you need to get off your chest?"

She sighed. "Hate to do this to you, man, but I'm going to need an explanation about what you said to Jester."

Yeah, she hadn't been looking forward to this. Fjord even kept eye contact, but the rest of him closed like shutters in a blizzard.

"Hm? What did she tell you?"

"Doesn't matter. She's my friend, and so are you. I want to hear it from both sides."

"True, but she's—"

Oh, no, she wasn't letting him go there. Self-effacing was such a Caleb thing.

"She's what?" she asked sharply.

"Never mind." Fjord gave up. "I suppose I should've told you, but you know me."

He fiddled with the hem of his coat, looking back out toward the sea.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked cautiously.

"Let's just say I'm not the marrying type."

It was no surprise to anyone who knew him. At any rate, it shouldn't be, but that wasn't the question here. Jester had it right—whatever went wrong between them, it happened before and had would have had to keep happening. Fjord was just the type to let it. She slid down out of her perch, walking right over to him.

"What were you expecting, then?" She pushed harder this time. "Why'd you let her ask you?"

"I didn't," Fjord snapped. He winced right after. Yep, she'd been there. "At least, I didn't think so. We didn't…you know," he said miserably. "Not if I could help it."

Shit, okay. Okay. Beau let herself process that. Fjord and Avantika. Fjord and Jester. Okay.

What?

"Fjord," she murmured, "What does that _mean_?"

"I—I don't _do_ that kind of thing." Fjord's eyes slid sideways; she could see the panic in them. "It's just not, you know, but I—she was staying there for me, so it's because of me she never found someone who could be what she needed. I did owe her. It was only a couple of times. She stopped asking after a while. It wasn't like we were _together_. I don't _know_ why she proposed."

Beau crouched down across from him, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. He couldn't avoid her like this, but he did his level best to stare over her shoulder.

"Why are you just saying this now?" she asked.

"I don't know," he muttered. "It's not like it matters. Much."

"Speaking as me, it matters a whole lot," she insisted. "Think about it. Have you ever seen me, banging—gods, I can't even say it—you ever seen me going home with—with a guy? For any reason? At all?"

The reaction was pretty much immediate. Fjord's face twisted up in a disgust you could only show if you had fangs or a really bad dentist.

"Eugh, no. Hell no. Why would you even—what does that even mean?"

He met her eyes, glaring at her and looking for something that she didn't know if she could really give him. She was going to try, though. That's what friends did.

"It means," she enunciated, "No way in hell am I ever going to try what makes me feel sick. Not for any friend, not for anyone else. Why's it different for you?"

"I told you. I owe her."

Beau shook him again, harder this time.

"No you fuckin' don't." At least he had the grace to shut up. "What you _owe_ her is an explanation as to why you never said no, why you never told her how you felt. Or, how about you tell her why you felt so guilty about your own damn boundaries and so afraid of what she was going to say that you let her get all the way to proposing before you even let her know you didn't want it."

As she talked, his face went from overcast to thunderous, twisted up and intense. Tough luck. She tried a different tack.

"Look, I know—Jester cares about you, all right?" she insisted. "She cares about you, and I don't know what you said to her, but she's smart. You said she stopped asking. That was probably because she guessed how you felt, or something. She picked up what you were putting down but—if you went that long without ever trusting her with that, that's got to feel terrible."

It was plain for her to see. Now came the tough part.

"She hurt you, Fjord. You're hurt. Don't try to deny it, you're looking green even talking about this." A momentary look of confusion passed over Fjord's face. "Well, green-er. But you were unhappy with her. Part of that's her, if I'm being honest, and part of it's you."

"You don't want to hear what I said to her?"

Fjord's back was ruler-straight, pressed up against the tree like he was in a fight. That was fine. Beau was all set to attack from the front.

"Do you want to tell me?" she countered. "She said you said you couldn't marry her, and that's true. But now she thinks it's because she hurt you bad, not that she knows how, and she thinks you were so afraid of her you let her do it to you. That's not it, is it?"

"I wasn't afraid of her," he said.

"Sure."

His hands moved, reaching for something or maybe just trying to put a barrier between them. Beau took them and held them still.

"I—I didn't want to be alone, right? I didn't want to be alone," he said.

Tightening her hold on him, Beau breathed out one long sigh.

"You're not," she said. "Whatever you need from us, you've got it. You—you know that. Even if you don't understand, well, even you've got to know that."

Fjord sniffed. "Fuck off, Beau."

"It's 'cos you know I'm right." She sighed, giving his hands back to him. "You don't have to say anything. I just think, if Jester knew, she'd apologize to you."

They were going to be here a moment. Beau's ankles were starting to lose feeling, so she slipped into a cross-legged position the same as Fjord.

"What?"

"She'd say sorry."

Fjord shook his head violently. "But she didn't do anything wrong. I consented."

"What, you think that disqualifies her? She didn't rape you, so, what, it's all okay? Jesus. Sorry. This is fucked up." She reached out for some way to put it into words. "It's—you hurt each other. It's forgiveable. You still did it, and it's eating at her."

Now he was looking back at her with a stunned kind of expression. That was one she could name, at least.

"Beau, how can you say that?"

"What?" She shrugged. "It's the truth, from where I'm sitting."

"About Jester. I know how you feel about her, so—"

"Do you?" she challenged. "Like there's never been anyone you loved who fucked up."

"It wasn't her fault."

Fjord curled up, folding his arms on top of his knees and resting his head on them. Poor guy. When you were used to hurting yourself, it was hard to stop. She knew.

"Stop. Stop telling yourself that. It wasn't yours, either."

"I'm sorry, Beau."

"I'm sorry, too. But hey, I'm glad that you could say it."

"Why?"

Relaxing for the first time since they started, she gave him a shrug.

"You've always been hard to read."

"You're pretty good at it," he said doubtfully.

"Hey, I'm an expert," she said. "And I'm your friend."

She gave him a light punch in the arm. Not that she was timing this, but the light was definitely getting lower.

"Yeah." Fjord sighed, head dropping. "Gods. Just when I thought I was getting better—"

"Hey. If it didn't come out here, it was going to come out sometime."

All that got her was a muffled grunt. Oh, well. He seemed to be calmer now. Hopefully she hadn't fucked him up too much.

"We don't have to get back until sundown," she offered. "I told Caleb we'd be a while."

"Oh."

"He'd worry, otherwise."

Did he get the hint? He raised his head at least, bringing a clawed hand across his face to brush the hair out of his eyes.

"I hope so," Fjord said.

Beau cast about for something to give her some kind of hint that Caleb was, as usual, wrong. "You said you'll be together, when all this is done?"

"I said he offered to go travelling with me."

"Same thing, isn't it?"

Fjord sighed, shifting his legs back to cross under him. He looked tired.

"Beau—"

"Just something to consider," she said quickly. "Not everyone's got the same idea of happiness. It might be worth checking out."

Grinning, she held her hands up defensively, slapping Fjord's attempts to swat her out of the way. He was nice enough to give up after a couple of tries.

"That obvious?" he asked. Hah.

"No," she answered. "You just seemed happy. Did you have this whole talk with him already?"

"Yeah."

"Mm."

She left a bit enough silence that needed something dropped in it.

Fjord complied. "He gave me—a lot of the same advice."

"Mm. Good."

Beau let him collect himself.

She wondered, sometimes, what would have happened if she'd been as distant from herself as Fjord or even Jester as a kid. She never wondered for long. If she'd ever thought about getting with a guy to see what would happen, she wouldn't have been Beau. The girl who did that probably would've cooked the books instead of stealing outright, would never have tried to run away from home, would've tried to make it work for TJ's sake. That girl wasn't so bad. Beau felt for her.

She just wasn't her.

That put an end to that existential tangent. Beau pushed herself off the ground, scraping twigs and dirt off her butt. It didn't look like Fjord was going anywhere any time soon; he'd closed his eyes, putting a hand on each knee in something like her meditation poses.

"I'll come get you in time for dinner, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Should I say where you are, if someone asks?"

"It's fine. Just—"

Beau grabbed the two tied bundles of leafy-looking stuff Fjord had set down near the edge of the little clearing.

"No skin off my back," she said. "I'll take these."

She heard him breathe out. "Not Jester, please?"

"All right."

Satisfied that he wasn't about to slink off, Beau gave him a wave and headed back to shore through the growing shadows of the trees. She was running out of other people's problems to dig up. Soon she'd have to start on her own.

Not that anything from the past few years could stack up against the weight Fjord was carrying, but she wasn't getting any younger. The Order was her family now as much as the Nein. The problem was, as Caleb had said and as she hadn't really realized, not really, they were running out of time. Getting a partner, settling down, she'd always thought she'd had time to figure it out. She still did.

But…

A shiver forced its way down her back.

Jester would have married someone.

She hadn't realized, just until now, but Jester was going to marry someone. That's forever. Or could be. Jester Lavorre had done the thinking and, even if it wasn't the romance she'd wanted, she had decided she was willing to spend the rest of her life with someone.

She'd decided that she could spend the rest of her life without Beau and that, well, that was different from just not spending her life so far with Beau. It was one thing for Jester not to be with her. It was different for Jester to be with someone else.

Her foot landed on a dry twig, snapping it in two. Damn. Monks were supposed to be above that kind of shit.

Thing was, she had thought about it before. The Order took a lot of time. There hadn't really been the chance to build that kind of a relationship once she'd left the Nein. Truth be told, she'd considered partnering up with one of them like Caleb had with Nott, or Fjord and Jester, but that wasn't what she wanted. She wouldn't last a year without starting a fight at the Brenatto house, for one. Besides, it was too pastoral. Reminded her of home.

Same with Caduceus' garden, though he'd said she could always come back there. Sweet guy. She wasn't going to go risking that friendship over her bad habits and itchy fingers. As for Yasha, they'd been close towards the end, there, but the life she was rebuilding and the future Beau was chasing were too far apart to reconcile. She was still kind. She was still strong. They wrote letters a few times a year. It was enough.

Fjord and Jester were the only ones she'd felt the pull to travel with. Only, she hadn't been about to put herself through that. Fjord was fine enough, best friend a gal could ask for who never asked for anything. Didn't change that he took a lot from Jester and didn't give much back. Fact of life. Beau hadn't been about to say anything about that. Jester was smart enough to figure it out.

Or so she'd thought. Hah. She'd been wrong about that.

People aren't always meant for each other. It takes, she'd realized when she saw Tori on the road on hazy afternoon when they were older, a lot more than just being in the right place at the right time.

It was interesting, actually. If you took that line of logic and stretched it out a little, you could say that the time and place didn't matter. You could make your own time. You could choose the place. What decided the whole thing was whether, in the end, it would be worth it.

The sun set fast in this part of the world. It had just cleared the canopy when she'd left Fjord, but now it was almost dead ahead, deep in the southwest of the sky. For practice, she walked the last few metres down to the beach and across the bridge with her eyes closed. It had been a hot second since training in the pits at HQ, but she still remembered the instincts stamped into her by countless practice sessions with a blindfold, picking up the echoes of the waves and the drifting air currents around her to keep her balance over the roots and rocks, and then the swaying planks of the ladder.

Opening her eyes just shy of the boat, she checked the deck for clutter before jumping down on to it. A foot injury was something she really didn't want right now. She didn't want it any other time, either.

The place didn't have the energy she'd expected. Prithi's silhouette stood out in the rigging, with a call going up or coming down every few seconds as Olina directed her from below. The only other person up here was Bharim, patiently sorting medical supplies. Well, it was mostly repurposed clothing and some dried herbs.

"Here, would any of this help?" she asked, holding out Fjord's haul. "I think some of it's supposed to be food, but I don't recognize a lot of these."

"Let's have a look." Bharim's hand hovered, eventually picking out the smaller of the two bundles. He looked over it critically. "Yeah, your friend's sorted these already. Do we have any sticks around the place? I'll need to dry some of these out, or they'll mould before we need them. And some cloth, too, if you don't mind."

He set the bundle down in front of where he sat cross-legged on the deck, untying the grass cord Fjord had used with a lot more skill than you'd expect from hands that big.

"I can go check with Jes. Is she just around the back?"

Bharim shrugged, already concentrating on the herbs. "Might be. Uri's on dinner tonight, and I think Maura's still whittling out the back."

Leaving Caleb and Jester. Beau winced at the thought of interrupting whatever conversation was definitely going on.

"Right," she muttered. "Thanks, Bharim."

"It's what I do," he said absently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit hard to figure out! Not sure how it comes off, but I feel like Beau and Fjord are at opposite ends of the self-acknowledgement spectrum. Beau is loudly and aggressively herself to the point where she resists her own character development as if it's some kind of betrayal, while Fjord can seem like he's changed and moved on when he still keeps himself stuck in his old patterns (I'm looking at you, constant disclaimers that he's being honest and not hiding anything interspersed with carefully timed and portioned facts about himself that he gives out to avoid scrutiny). Caleb and Jester are both somewhere in between, with Caleb hiding his intentions and Jester hiding her negative feelings. Man. If only I loved CR2 as much as I love the canon in my head made up of the bits and pieces that I liked


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back! back again....
> 
> This chapter was one I had a hard time with. Disclaimer: w/j hits all of my 'god no please make it stop no don't do it' buttons, so I had a hard time trying to capture what I love about Caleb and Jester's dynamic (she inspires him to be more honest and confront his worse tendencies, he offers her the support she needs as a naive young woman who's unsure of herself and her purpose) without letting my feelings re: the romance bleed in. Let me know how it turned out!
> 
> Hope you all are having fun now that the show's back on air. Stay inside when you can, wear a mask when you can't, and thank your wifi source for its service during these trying times!

"Ah, finally!" Jester set down the last of her burden just inside the bow and stretched, her back cracking loudly. She rolled her neck for good measure. "You all right, Maura?"

The girl gave her a thumbs-up. "I'm much better now."

"Good! Good to hear. Not everyone can be as strong as me, you know. It's not a bad thing."

An afternoon's work had gotten them a whole bunch of long sticks, a few stripped saplings, and a lot of bits of wood that looked like they could be useful. Jester had to admit that she had gotten a little bit carried away, with poor Maura having to ask her to take part of what she carried. Oops. Well, Jester had managed with her own bodyweight strapped to her back or carried in her arms, so it was all okay, now. Maura had gotten some extra training in, too, which was what mattered.

She dusted off her hands, checking for any cuts or cracks that she might want to put some ointment on. There was nothing very much. Travelling on The Beaut—that was what she was calling the boat, though Beau should be very happy she never tried to paint it on—was very good for calluses.

"Everything okay?" she asked as Maura slowly straightened herself up.

"Yeah, I think so." The girl groaned. "Doesn't feel like I've strained anything."

"All right. Well, go see Bharim if there's anything that's still hurting in a few hours, okay?" Jester clapped her hands together. "Let's get started! We can do everything in the back, so that we don't get in Olina's way when she's trying to check the sails."

She slung a bundle of the spear-length saplings over her shoulder, holding down the front for a counterweight, and started walking again. Maura followed her with an armful of thick sticks they decided were good for arrows. Not good for any very good arrows, since none of them were shooters, but they would be about as good as poke in the eye with a sharp stick.

"Jester?"

"Yes?"

"Is that wizard guy watching us?"

"Oh, yes. Don't worry about it, that's just Caleb. He's very nervous, so sometimes it takes him a long time to start talking. He's probably psyching himself up."

Maura snorted. "Him?"

"Yes! It gets less weird when you know him more. I thought it was creepy too, you know—" She saw Caleb jump out of the corner of her eye, almost dropping his book. "But really, he's always more scared of us than we are scared of him."

They started a small pile in the centre of the stern deck, moving back and forth from the bow as they kept moving the rest. Jester was a little bit apprehensive about what things would be like when the real fighting started, but really Maura was not so much younger than she was when she started getting into life-threatening danger. She would be just fine if they all stuck together.

"Do you think we're actually going to be able to find the people in charge?"

Ah, the same doubts. Maura was a bright girl.

"Hm, I don't know," Jester said honestly. "We will definitely get somewhere. Maybe not this year, maybe not next year, but we have a lot of friends who can do a lot of things. Why?"

"I can't…I just don't get how we're going to do it. These people are all over the continent."

Jester prodded gently at the problem, hauling the second load of wood back to the stern.

"There will be some danger, but we will do everything that we can to keep you safe."

"It's not that." Maura shook her head, tossing her bangs out of her eyes. "Beau—she was saying that whoever it is, they're going to be rich."

"Well, ya. Slaves are expensive."

"Then they won't ever pay for it!" She sighed. "Mom says it happens all the time, people just pay off the Crownsguard and then they're fine."

There was so much frustration in Maura that she had to be talking about something personal. Or maybe not! But probably. Not a lot of people feel like that if something doesn't happen to them, or someone very close to them. Jester dropped the last heap of firewood down and set to untying the knots around the first spear-bundle.

"Mm, that is true a lot of the time. Whoever it is would be really rich. They could probaby pay off the Crownsguard, the Zolezzo, and the Bright Ones. But could they pay off us?" she asked slyly.

"No. Why would they have to pay us off?"

Lacing her fingers together, Maura stretched her arms out, working away the tension from her work and all the talking.

"Because we will do justice to them," Jester explained. "They can pay off the Crownsguard, but Beau has protection by her people and she can do whatever she wants, if she has evidence. There is also Fjord and my friend Caduceus and me, we all have to answer our gods, but we are not under a bunch of bosses like the guards. I can go on, you know?"

Maura went quiet after that, which told her that maybe she had been a little to direct about it. But hey! It was never too early for girls to learn about why guards didn't do very much.

"Hopefully it will not be that bad," she added. "Things will probably be all right."

"So you'd kill them?" asked Maura.

"We would not do that without any reason." It wasn't a lie! "Only with a very good reason. But slaving is a very good reason, yes?"

"Yeah."

Jester patted her gently on the shoulder. "If that is not okay with you, we have some friends who live in the mountains sort of north of Zoon that we could ask to come get you."

Maura shook her off. "No. I'm not scared."

"All right. But it is healthy to be, you know?"

She let Maura stew in that as she rummaged through her panniers and got out her handaxes, the whittling knife, the really terrible hammock fabric that she could make into sandpaper, and the rock that she had stashed in her dress for a hammer. Some nice boring work would be just the right thing to calm down and think about what she really wanted to happen.

But not for Jester. Caleb, flipping through his spellbook near the rudder, was looking just about brave enough to come and talk to her, and maybe Beau was right about telling people what you think. Even if she was still a little mad, she should tell him why. Then they could figure it out from there.

"Are you okay to get started on these by yourself?" she asked. "You can use all my tools. We have so many days before we even get anywhere to go shopping, so don't be worried about going fast."

Maura smiled grimly, closing her fingers around the knife. "Yeah. We built our own fences back home, so this should be the same, right?"

"Oh, good! It probably can't be that different, I think."

Like a wind-up toy, Caleb came walking forward just as Maura started setting up a little woodwork station.

"Uh, Jester," he murmured, "Do you have a moment?"

"Do I look like I do?"

Immediately, his eyes went wide with realization and started rambling. "It is all right if you don't. Beau just went to go—she went ashore, so I have not very much that I can do right now."

"Oh, ya, sure! What is it about?"

She let him hang there in the face of what she knew was a dazzling grin.

"I would very much like to apologize to you for things I said. Could we, uh, talk in the cabin, or somewhere else?"

He nodded vaguely at Maura, who did seem to be doing her best to be eavesdropping. It was good of him to let her choose the arena. She decided to be nice about it.

"Okay. Let's go for a walk."

It would be less bad for both of them if they didn't have to make eye contact or put up with Caleb fidgeting, because that was sometimes loud and pretty distracting.

"That sounds like a good idea," he said fervently.

…

Jester led them both around where she had been out with Maura and Olina, or at least before Olina had to run back to fix a large scratch she got on a really dirty stump. There was nobody along here, she was pretty sure, since Fjord had gone off in the other direction. It would be quiet. They could both be truthful about things.

"Thank you," Caleb said once they were in the trees.

"For what?"

"We have many other things to do, but you have still made time to let me talk," he stated. "Thank you for that."

"Oh, don't worry." Or, he shouldn't be worrying about that. "I have some things to say, too, and Beau will probably start nagging if we have any awkward standoffs."

She noticed that Caleb huffed at that, just a very small laugh. Still a laugh!

"You are probably right," he said.

"Sooooo, what do you want to say sorry for?" she tested.

"I presumed that I knew better than you the feelings of someone who you were closer to. First, I must apologize for that."

"I think so, ya."

Caleb stumbed over a tree root half-hidden in the underbrush. It was a good thing she was watching him so closely, because otherwise he would have gone ass-over-teakettle instead of just falling into her outstretched arm. He straightened himself up awkwardly.

"Indeed. Thank you. And, also, what I wanted to tell you, I should have talked to you as a friend. Of Fjord, I mean. As your friend," he said hurriedly. "This is all a bit jumbled. I am sorry for being inconsiderate of your feelings and too concerned with my own. You wanted to share your happiness. I denied you that."

"Okay." So far, so right!

"If it is not too much to ask—can I explain myself to you? Not for forgiveness, you understand," he said, "I only want you to know that you helped me there."

Something about that chafed at her. She didn't know, really, why she'd watned to come with him. She didn't even know if she was still mad, it was just—it was just—it was annoying, that was what it was! What did Caleb know about anything? Then or now?

He did offer to explain, she told herself. And he was being okay about it. Better to calm down a bit and let him talk. Then, if she really wanted to, and if she had anything she could blow up about, she would blow up.

She hiked her heels into the sandy dirt, following the small path up a hill. "I don't know. Sure, why not?"

"Jester, I do mean it. You have as much right as anyone—"

"I said sure!" She laughed out loud. "God, Caleb, you don't need to apologize for everything."

"If it upset you, I do."

Something poked at her. That was it—where had Caleb gone?

Turning on her heel, she saw him trailing after her. What changed her mind was the look on his face. It was set. Stern, even, none of the wet terror that usually swam about him when he was forced into an awkward situation. This was not a desperate plea for mercy, like what he did sometimes when he wanted forgiveness but knew he shouldn't.

"Just—get talking, okay, if you have something to say. Or don't, if you don't!" She threw up her hands, turning back around so that she didn't have to figure out what emotions she needed to hide. "I'm feeling nice today, you know."

It only took her one step forward for Caleb to start up again.

"I have never been in love with you, nor have I ever wanted to marry you."

She could have told him that herself, but fine, if it made him feel better.

"I do not know exactly what you meant," he continued, "About wasting time, and you I did and you chose not to, but you were right in saying it. I spent too long under the illusion that nothing would change within our group that would affect me so."

The path wound even further up the hill, putting a light heat on her muscles and making Caleb's breath grow thin.

"If I may say, you, uh, you pulled me out of that with some haste. What I said to you," he wheezed, "I said partly because I thought it was true, and partially because…I was afraid that you would marry Fjord. It was petty. It was selfish. It was no lie, though."

And oh, this was a habit of his that she knew she had too. He was talking in circles! Selfish this, true that, meaning, lies, he never made sense.

"What are you talking about? Were you trying to break us up, or no? Because honestly, I don't think you should have bothered," she finished bitterly. "It's not like Fjord heard anything you said, and it's not like I let it stop me from doing everything like I planned."

"I, uh, well." Caleb's voice cracked like a dry twig. "I-wanted-to-marry-him."

The words came out in a rush of air as they crested the small hill, or maybe it was a sand dune, and Caleb panted trying to catch his breath. She just kept on walking. He could explain himself better without as many words or he could give up and stay here catching his breath.

Then, after she was all set to pout, it hit her.

"What? You know?"

"Or, rather," Caleb muttered, too wrapped up in himself to notice her at all, "I think I did not want him to be married to anyone else. Sorry. Though I did not realize it until after you called me for it. Some time, uh, after."

It was pretty difficult to think of something to answer that. Really, what was she going to say? It's not like she even knew enough about Fjord to—

"Please don't tell him," Caleb said in the very smallest voice possible.

And what even did he want from her? Permission? He didn't need it. Fjord was his own person. Maybe he wasn't anyone's person but his own.

Jester hopped over a small patch of damp sand, holding her skirts steady so as not to let them brush it.

Gods, it was frustrating. Caleb had just—she had thought a lot about it, really! She had thought about it and she had prayed to the Traveller for maybe just a bit of advice and she had decided that, you know what, maybe it wouldn't be so bad! Maybe the happiness that she knew now was going to all be enough, in the end. The small world of her mother's workplace was enough for her for years, ya? Happiness comes in so many different shades and colours, so her and Fjord, walking the coastline for years and talking and joking and watching the stars, that would be enough.

"Jester?"

But then Caleb had to come along and just say—well, say whatever he wanted! She was sure back then that he was just messing with her plans out of a kind of helplessness, she saw it so much so in his eyes when she told him, heartbreak and shame. Whatever. If he wanted to waste his life longing after whatever odd dream he had, fine. She did not! If she could not have what in her heart of hearts she wanted, she would have what in her heart of hearts she was reasonably sure would be pretty good for a decade or maybe two.

"Jester, please—"

But now it was hard to rationalize it all and line it up to make sense. Maybe she could pity a Caleb who would make sure no one else would have Fjord, and in his arrogance find some way to blame it on her for not thinking, but then when she herself was rejected she could not really blame him like that. He had known Fjord better than her, somehow, even after so many years apart.

So he had maybe known what he was talking about. So what. She could still resent both him and Fjord for not thinking she would understand.

"What?" she snapped.

"You won't…say anything to Fjord, will you?" He sounded scared.

Jester kept her eyes forward, looking ahead for roots and shrubs to avoid. There were some with burrs here that would really stick up in her wool coat and they would take hours to get out.

"Yeah, no. Sure," she said absentmindedly. "Whatever. No, I was never gonna tell him."

"Thank—" There was a small pause as Caleb's brain caught up. "What do you mean, 'never'?"

"Like, I know I was maybe a bit mean about it back then," she admitted, "But I didn't tell him you were jealous of me, or anything. Actually, ya, I didn't tell him anything."

There was a shuffling noise as Caleb ran up next to her, trying to catch her eye. She let him do it, but she didn't stop.

"So—you thought I was in love with Fjord."

"A bit? That's what it seemed like, and you said I helped you—"

"Yes, yes, but—when I told you that he would reject you."

"Well, ya."

They both skirted a large anthill growing on the side of the path, Jester striding bravely first and Caleb stepping exactly in her footprints.

"Oh. I see. Thank you," he said quietly.

"You're welcome. For what, this time?"

"For never saying anything about it."

She shrugged her shoulders, which caused the sleeves of her coat and dress and petticoats flounce. "Huh. Ya. Well, a lot of good it's done."

Caleb smiled sadly, nodding to himself. The man specialized in twisting himself up in knots, which was kind of cute, until it wasn't.

"It has," he said. "For what it is worth, I am sorry you and Fjord…broke apart. You had been happy."

"Sometimes, ya."

"You don't seem as happy, now."

"Hmm, I think that's wrong."

Caleb was nice enough not to say anything snippy about it. She had been kind of rude, it was just that there were a lot of things she was thinking about and she didn't feel very polite or quiet about a lot of them.

"I really loved travelling with everyone I met," she said firmly. "There were so many new people, we had so many stories, we went so far! I was doing good, too. I know you can do things when you're at home, too, but it's better when you're travelling."

"I understand."

"It doesn't feel good to be stuck somewhere for too long when you're used to all this," she concluded, waving a hand out at the dry forest. "Even if I did miss Fjord a little. But then we found Beau."

She had intended to elaborate on that, but she found herself stopping. There was so much to say that she would have to spend some time putting it in order and thinking about how to say it.

"It is nice to have someone close by who has known you for so long," Caleb said matter-of-factly. That would be close enough.

"It is. We don't get to talk to each other a lot."

"You and Beau?"

"No, silly. The Nein."

Her heart rate, which had gone very fast, was cooling down a bit.

"Silly me," laughed Caleb. "You and Beau had plenty of time to talk, then."

"We had lots of time," she said. It was true, even if it wasn't a very good answer.

"It's nice having her around again."

It was hard to think that it might have to stop again. Beau had offered—but she was already married to her work. Tagging along as a helper would never be the same as they had been, years and years ago on that stupid ship when she had—

"I don't want her to go," she said suddenly. "I don't want her to think that she has to quit or that she even has to, like, listen to me, but I wish I could tell her. You know?"

"Hm. Why can't you ask her?"

It was the question that had followed her around from the start, when she first felt Beau's arms close around her in the shallows of that cove. Why didn't she ask to stay? She had. Why didn't she feel like it was enough? Why didn't she put all those books to good use and for once finally admit to Beau that she had haunted her? But of course that was so many years ago when Beau was just looking for a purpose and trying out her kindness, of course she wouldn't remember the things she had said to Jester that had stayed with her and never left her.

Jester kicked at a few pebbles on the path, sending them skittering off into the grass.

"It's because," she said firmly, grabbing each word out of the air like a buzzing fly, "If I'm close to her, I can't just go on and pretend like I'm satisfied with this."

"What's wrong with wanting more, then? You have never been one to shy away," Caleb countered her. Oh, that was fine for him to say!

"Why do you think? This isn't the kind of thing she wants, I mean, she's got girls falling all over her all the time, but she never tried to get married. I don't want to force something on her that she doesn't want. I really don't want to make her feel bad about not wanting it."

The moment she finished, that Caleb didn't say anything, she clapped her hands back over her mouth. Shit. Shit! Now her cheeks were all burning and by all the roads in Wildemount they would be turning purple soon, she never could keep herself from getting worked up—

She sped up, overtaking Caleb on the path so that she wouldn't have to face him. The wind had whipped up as the sun came out, blowing her hair into her face and making her eyes stream as she forged ahead.

"Just forget I said anything," she said loudly enough for it to carry. "No more saying things, okay, this is just going to end up very bad for the two of us!"

At the very least, he didn't try to stop her. But he did keep on saying things, voice floating up from behind her like scum in a soup kettle.

"It's all right if you want to marry Beau."

"I know it is!"

"I don't think you do."

"What?"

Caleb had quickened his pace too, dogging her footsteps and forcing her to go faster still.

"Then what has kept you from telling her the truth about all this? You can't seriously think that Beauregard would ever judge you for your feelings or doubt your ability to handle them. She has more respect for you than I could measure."

"I know," she said miserably.

"If being with her makes you happy, let it. Trust me. I, uh," he stammered, catching on his berath. "I wasted a lot of my life doing the same thing."

The question that had always been there now welled up inside Jester and burst out of her throat. "Why would she want me?"

"That is a question for Beauregard."

Jester stopped again. They had reached the other edge of this tiny peninsula, facing a flatter, more open beach in the distance. She only saw it when she let the tears clear her eyes.

"I already hurt Fjord just by being with him. I don't want to do that to Beau," she theorized. "She—she needs someone who's a lot better. If she needs anyone at all."

"Listen." Caleb put a hand on her shoulder, speaking in his teacher-voice now. "I cannot speak for Fjord. But you should know that the same will not happen with Beau. Fjord—he has always hidden himself, but Beau is more truthful than that. I'm not saying she is always easy to read, but you should know that she will not be hurt the same way."

"Good. I can invent some new and interesting way to hurt her."

"Jester…"

She took a deep breath, believing more in what she was saying now that it was said.

"I don't want to ever, ever hurt her, okay?" It wasn't a question. "I've hurt Fjord a lot. I still don't know how. I just did it, or it happened, or whatever. So maybe that is just something that is going to happen. Even if I say sorry to him, I'm not going back with him. I don't want to go back—Caleb, do you know what that means? I don't even want to be around him any more. It just makes him sad."

The sky was starting to turn colour. Each patch of blue faded out into white and orange, each cloud blushed. Jester watched the land that was familiar to her after so many years start changing, still feeling too tense to move or sit down.

Caleb didn't have that problem. Or, maybe he was already tired. He sat down cross-legged on the grass a few steps away, tucking his coat under him.

"I do."

"What?"

"I do know what you mean," said Caleb very gently.

As she watched the water edge up along the beach, Jester had been timing her breathing to the waves. If it was doing anything, it was helping her be a lot more tired. There had been some weird energy that made her come all the way out here, but now that she'd arrived, it was already going home.

"Do you want me to be quiet?"

"Sorry?"

"Do you want me to be quiet," repeated Caleb, "Or may I say something?"

Funny. With him sitting down just a little bit out of sight, he may as well be somewhere else and Jester may as well be alone.

"Ya, why not? For some reason I'm telling you all this stuff, so I guess I could at least get some advice or something."

Caleb laughed a little. "Very well. For what it's worth, I am glad you were able to trust me with this."

Jester considered this for a moment, then stamped out her own patch of grass beside him and knelt down on it to catch her breath.

"Me too."

She glanced sideways as she said it, watching Caleb fidget. He had plucked out some strands of the tough grass and was now braiding them together as he watched the beach.

"So?" she asked.

"Mm, well, to me it seems like you regret whatever fight happened between you and Fjord."

They way he said it, she had a feeling not to say anything until he was done. Sort of because she was going to explode again if she tried to answer that.

"Except, I believe you said that you did not want your friendship to return to what it was. That is not for me to talk about, so I can only say that I understand. There were, uh, some relationships that I had where I would rather forget than face everything that would be needed to put us back together."

Caleb tied off his braid, staring hard at it like it was about to move and undo itself.

"Quite apart from that, you said you have wanted to be with Beauregard. Is that…you are sure, correct?"

"I know what I feel better than you would," Jester said matter-of-factly.

"Good." He sighed faintly. "That makes things simpler for me. You have wanted to be with Beauregard, but you have not tried to follow her, you have not asked her to wait for you, and you have no intention of doing either."

"I guess."

They should probably be walking back to the Beaut soon. Jester was very nearly done crying, so maybe just a few more minutes?

"I suppose I can only assume that you plan to wait until you no longer feel so strongly about her. Or perhaps you intend to look for someone else, if you do want to be married?"

"I'm not looking for anyone else for dating," she said defensively. Oops.

"Then you do not think you need a partner."

With a sigh, Jester pulled her knees in and set her head down on them. It was starting to get cold.

"That's not true."

"What you have said to me is that you want so much to be with Beau that you are in pain and upset not to be. That, uh, is something that I very much understand. You already fear you may have damaged your relationship with Fjord beyond what you both are willing to repair. You are afraid that any relationship you have with Beauregard will end the same way."

"That's not advice. I already knew that," she lied.

He wouldn't let her be. She had taken him away from the ship so that he would feel better about speaking his mind, which he did, and now she regretted it.

"Well, maybe, but it helps to see things from a different person's place, eh?"

"It does help sometimes."

"If you—there is only one other thing that I can say with certainty…"

Caleb stood up suddenly, brushing sand off his coat.

"Hey! You're washing my dress if any of that gets on me, okay?"

"Pardon me."

They both knew it wouldn't be an issue, but she had to say something to make everything less awkward. Jester got up as well.

"So?"

"Mm?"

"What is the thing you know?"

"Oh. Uh, what I meant to say was what happened between you and Fjord will not happen between you and Beau. It cannot."

Caleb walked in front on the way back. His shoulders, Jester noticed, were actually locked in a good posture. His neck was straight. He was not so tall as Fjord, but Jester did sometimes still think of him as the small, hunched little man she first met. He had grown since then.

"Okay. I won't ask about him."

"Thank you. I think it would be better if the two of you talked only when you were prepared."

"You're probably right."

There were odd little grasses growing here that would be wildflowers in a month. That was the beauty of the coast; life was always just there and ready, not long-sleeping and lazy like up north.

"So, Caleb, when you told me that I should have known that Fjord was never going to want to marry me?"

"I did not say that in so many words."

"That's what you meant, though."

"Yes."

Jester smiled to herself.

"You were being a big asshole."

"Yes, I was."

The sea was not yet out of sight and it was certainly not out of hearing. It was always comforting to her, listening to it roll in, and out, and in, and out. Caleb stood in front of her with a rueful smile.

"I'm not angry at you. Actually, I haven't been for a bunch of time" she said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I was angry. Just not at you. Not at Fjord either, you know? I was just angry." Jester patted him reassuringly on the shoulder. He swayed a little, reminding her that it had been some time since they had seen each other. There would be many things she would have to get used to. "Thank you for saying sorry. That felt good, ya?"

"Very much so."

Tugging him once by the arm, she led them both further down the path.

"Thank you for listening, too. Let's talk about something different now. What food have you been eating?"

"Oh, nothing you would want to hear about. Nothing good, certaintly—no, I tell you a lie, there was some very good food at the inn in Yultia. Not so much baking so far from the cities, of course…"

Caleb kindly let her change the subject, and they walked on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> of the mains and secondary characters, I feel like I understand Fjord and Beau as they're played and as I see them in the show, I understand Caleb as he is in the show but not in how the player plays him or in terms of word-of-god, and I don't understand anything about Jester. Doesn't mean I don't like her, she just feels more like a wild card than a PoV even this late in the game. helped by the fact that she probably doesn't understand herself


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No editing, we post adn hope

The sun had quite started to set when Caleb and Jester returned to the beach, chatting merrily of cats and caravans. Frumpkin had come out again to contribute a little to the conversation, though he was older and more crotchety these days, content to sit around Caleb's neck and not interfere. Especially with Fjord, who had still sneezed and dribbled the one time Frumpkin tried to keep him company. Silly man. He should have known.

"No," he barely said for laughing. "Jester, that's not—please, I am serious, that is not how one skis. I did learn, you know."

"So what? I did it! I think you should have learned by now that just because we're not _supposed_ to do something doesn't mean that's not how we do it."

They skirted the sandy bank over the beach, pausing to take in the hues of the sky far out over the sea. It was quite beautiful, this late in the year.

"Perhaps, but I prefer to have my legs separate, so that I do not go front over end."

Caleb held his arm out for her in a meaningless gesture; she just rested her fingers on it as she hopped up on to Beau's makeshift bridge, then hopped across it with the agility that her hooves bespoke. His own journey was rather more perilous, but he did avoid overbalancing himself toward the end. Jester helped him down on to the boat.

"I just have to teach you sometime," said Jester blithely. "Hey, Bharim!"

The man sat cross-legged on the bow nodded at her kindly. "Hello, Jes. Beau's looking for you, if you've got the time."

"Oh, okay! Where did she go?"

"Helping Uri in the kitchen, I think."

"Thanks! Let me know if I can help, okay?"

Bharim waved a hand. "I've got this covered."

Jester nodded smoothly, starting off towards the tiny cabin that served as planning room and kitchen, adjacent to the crowded, hidden hold. Caleb gave Bharim what was probably a wobbly little grin and followed after her, through the door and down the few stairs. Sure enough, the smell of frying fish and herbs suffused the air. It would have stunk up the cabin, if it weren't already rank as anything. At least now, with Fjord's forages, they had something to freshen the air.

Which reminded him…

"Hey Beau! Hi Uri! What are having?"

Jester wandered right up to the pan, spitting oil and slightly rancid. A sullen-looking teenage Tiefling stood over it, poking at the fish with a wooden spoon while Beau minced herbs on a clean plank beside him.

"Same as last night," Uri droned. "Fish, with seaweed."

"At least we've got actual seasoning this time," said Beau. "A gal likes her cuisine."

"Pardon me, Beauregard, but you have not been subsisting on fish jerky and apples for weeks, no?"

"Shut up, Caleb," Beau said cordially. "Or I'll uninvite you from dinner."

Uri turned from his labours specifically to roll his eyes at Caleb, which he took as a good sign.

"I should be so fortunate."

"It's going to be finished in fifteen minutes," said Uri. "Take it or leave it."

"We'll take it!" said Jester. "I'll go gather everybody together, yes?"

"Thanks, Jes," said Beau. She patted Jester absentmindedly on the arm in a gesture so thoughtless it was loving. "Say, you good to take over? Fjord's still out having some 'me' time before we set sail. He won't want to miss a hot meal."

Caleb stilled a moment, remembering what their last real conversation had taken out of Fjord.

"It's fine, Beauregard, I can go."

"He's out in the forest a ways," said Beau doubtfully. "It'll probably be easier for me to find him."

She scraped the greens into a pile and set down the knife, turning to rinse her hands in the basin of saltwater balanced on a barrel behind her. As she did, she shot Caleb a glance that the others would miss. It asked a question.

In response, he smiled, waving a hand and watching her response.

"Ah, but you forget, there is more than one way to, uh, pet a cat. I can find him."

"Ya!" Jester chimed in. "It's not so hard to cast a spell, is it, Caleb?"

"Suit yourself." Beau turned back to her work, but he caught the hint of a grin. "But don't be too long, right, Uri?"

"If you miss dinner, it's just going to be lukewarm. And the sauce is probably going to curdle."

Caleb bowed his head once, sneaking a leaf of Beau's seaweed. "No need to worry. We will return."

…

It was the work of a moment to find Fjord, or, more specifically, the holy symbol that he carried. Caleb's path led him opposite the track he took with Jester and deeper into the forest, now shadowed by the evening. The air seemed thicker, blowing at his back as the land breeze started and kicking up the few dead leaves at his feet.

His spell did not work by sight or sound; instead, there was a feeling in his chest that he was pulled or reeled, as if a fishhook had his heart, tugging him inland in pulses and throbs. It was remarkably like the feeling that had led him to Fjord the first time.

The path followed some way into the forest beneath the trees, which were taller here than on the other side. They glowed richly green with light. Caleb's pulse steadied in his chest but strengthened, making itself known to him but not with the speed of fear. There was a lightness about his feet that he had not accounted for; though he had already known that Jester was his friend, it steadied him so to know that she had never thought him to be jealous _for_ her.

Only of her.

Wading forward through a thick clump of brush, he came across a near-clearing, a place where the canopy had blocked enough sunlight to leave the forest floor somewhat bare. Fjord sat there against a tree trunk, staring out to where the last of daylight wove beween the leaves.

He watched Caleb impassively as he approached, boots rustling and crunching over the floor of twigs and humus, waiting far too long to smile and saying nothing.

Where earlier he might have hesitated, Caleb strode across the clearing and, sweeping his coat under him, sat down at Fjord's side.

"What are we watching?" he asked.

"Nothing much," said Fjord. "Sunset, probably."

"Mm," he answered. "Beauregard says dinner will be ready in an eighth of an hour, though we are free to show up later. Her young friend said that the sauce will get gluey if it gets cold."

The sun eased down another fraction of degree, finding a gap in the foliage that forced him to shield his eyes. Curiously, Fjord did not, nor did he answer.

"You'll get a cataract if you keep on with that," Caleb said dryly.

"I'll take my chances."

They sat quietly for a few minutes more. Caleb took the time to pick at some scraps of leaf and branch that had attached themselves to the matted fur lining his collar.

"Shall we stay here, then?" he asked. "I am content to leave, should you want, though I would stay by you if that is all right, too."

Fjord had sat with his knees raised halfway to his chest, arms folded in a rather adolescent pose. It left one hand within Caleb's reach to find and squeeze awkwardly in support.

"You know," said Fjord, no more than loud enough to hear, "That would be really nice." He sighed. "We should probably get back, though."

"It's your choice."

To his shock and momentary shortness of breath, Fjord turned his hand up, fitting it into Caleb's with one short movement.

"Some other time," he said.

And stood up, pulling Caleb willingly with him. Afraid to hold on and unable to let go, he followed back along the path he'd taken back to the camp, sometimes walking beside Fjord or trailing behind when the passage between trunks was narrow, but no more than two arms' lengths away.

They let go—he could not say who was first—only as they stepped on to the tough grass above the beach. Without the sun, he was free to keep his eyes fixed on the horizon. This was something he did so well that he did not see the smile on Fjord's face until, as they stepped from the ladder to the deck, he turned back and smiled.

Then turned again, and left Caleb standing very still.

…

Things were going pretty well, considering. The boat docked at the port a week later without running into anything worse than the duty fees. The problem was, this was the last stop before they were committed. Beau would be the last one to call herself a softy, but there was something that didn't sit right with taking a bunch of kids out on this mission.

Never mind that they weren't any younger than she and Jes had been. Gods, it was still a wonder she survived to old age.

She braced herself for an awkward conversation, opening the cabin door and shutting it behind her.

"Jester already gave us 'the Talk,'" said Uri.

"Yeah, no, I'm the one who asked her to."

Beau made herself at home on Prithi's hammock, swinging back and forth as Uri extracted his spell components from the day's shopping and sealed them in the hundred pockets and pouches attaced to his belt. With the girls and Bharim still out and Caleb and Fjord off doing…something mysterious out somewhere, they were alone in the cabin.

"Okay, so what are you here for? You don't do anything magic."

"I know more than you'd think, kid. Look," she reasoned, "I'm not going to ask you to bail, if that's what you're afraid of."

Uri didn't even bother to give her a glare. No skin off of her back.

"You know, you're a pretty good cook," she went on. "And it's useful to have another mage around the place. Hell, you helped me out of a real tight spot. So this isn't a question of competence, got that?"

"Yeah, sure. Are you ever going to get to the point?"

Bringing the hammock back to standing, Beau made a face at his back. Kids. She couldn't believe she'd ever been like that.

"Okay, thing is, we're pretty young, here. Olina's been on a boat most of her life. Maura's a farmgirl, which means she's used to working from the asscrack of dawn to the middle of the night. And Prithi's kind of naive, yeah, but she was still training under the Order. Bharim's experienced with this kind of roving, and he packs a bit more of a punch than most servants of the gods, you know?"

"So? No one can do what I can."

Uri tossed aside one pocket-bandolier with a louder smack than was necessary, pulling the other one up to the desk the mages had taken over.

"I said it wasn't about that. What I _mean_ is that I don't know anything about you. That's fine. I don't need to. Hell, I never told anyone anything when I first joined up."

"Don't tell me you're reminiscing," he muttered.

"Respect your elders, boy wonder. You don't have to tell me anything. We'll take you with if that's where you want to go. It's just—if you're here just because you don't want to go back, there are a lot easier ways to do it, okay?"

She tried to gauge the kid's reaction from the exact level of huffiness he was putting into his work, but it wasn't so easy. He seemed pretty subdued.

"I can't guarantee you're going to live through a fight, and I'm no babysitter. We've got some friends in the mountains who could take you, and I'm sure Caleb would teleport you—"

"I'm not going," choked Uri.

Shit. She'd dealt with criers before, but she still wasn't great at it.

"Okay," she said firmly. "Just as long as we're totally clear that you don't have to put your safety at risk just to get away from whatever it is you're getting away from. Are we clear?"

"Yeah."

There was something that sounded a lot like someone trying not to sniff. Beau got up and patted Uri lightly on the shoulder.

"Well, yeah, okay. That's all. I'll, uh, need to use the table whenever Caleb gets back."

" _If_ he gets back."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

Despite the sniffling, Uri was giving her his best impression of her smirk.

"Damn, you really are old."

…

Time passed more quickly once they had their goal. They were underway well before noon the following day, faster than Fjord had thought. Beau's crew had run a rather tight ship, leaving him not much to do as captain other than boss people around and keep an eye on the maps. Beau had seemed happy enough to step back into position as First Mate, though she still acted as the leader of their group. The way she explained it to Fjord, he was still more apt to notice something amiss with the boat and she needed to focus on wrangling the crew.

He still hadn't spoken to Jester. She seemed fine enough ignoring him in any personal capacity. Thank the Mother for small mercies. They made it to port without a hitch, though the kids had somewhat emphatically refused their last chance to go home.

Caleb had muttered something vague about needing some special materials before they got in, so they two of them had left Beau in charge and set off for their own trip into town. Fjord did have a few errands to run himself, getting good travel provisions and maybe finding a local Divination mage to draw up a weather report. Better to spend the money now than get caught up in something truly awful, even if the predictions expired in a week or so.

So here they found themselves walking through the town he had spent some time thinking about, and then forgetting.

He and Caleb seemed to have found an easy equilibrium in their…whatever he could call their relationship these days. Caleb did seem surprised when he reached out, sometimes, but he never backed down and never edged away when Fjord noticed they were staying maybe a little too close together.

It would have been frustrating if he hadn't been so honest about it. Unlike the early days, when they'd each get close just to spook and swat each other away, he seemed to be enjoying himself. They'd even started some lessons in the hours Fjord had to spend waiting with one eye on the wind and one on the wheel. At first Caleb would just read, or bring Beau and Jes along to talk routes, but three days in he'd spoken to him in a rather cleaner voice than his typical broken clauses and grab-bag of filler words. Fjord had thought that he was testing out a publication he'd prepared or just practicing public speaking, until the end when Caleb had started quizzing him.

A good thing, then, that he always listened when Caleb spoke.

"Fjord?"

And listened even when Caleb was giving the poor apothecary a laundry list of components for spells Fjord was pretty sure hadn't existed last year. The fat, worried-looking woman behind the counter was nimbly plucking the lids off of containers and spooning powder or tweezing threads into colour-coded cloth pouches, each sealed with glue and water.

"Er, I think I'm fine. I don't use my components up too quickly."

"Very well, but this may be the last time for some months that we are able to restock."

He glanced over the glass jars stacked high and sealed with a barrier spell. Beetle's wings, gold, silver, body parts of creatures he didn't know and leaves he did. The rest of the shop was mostly herbs and equipment, but the magical materials were strictly behind the counter.

"Months?"

Caleb smirked over his shoulder. "I hope it is not months, but it may be."

"That's worst case scenario." On second thought… "Uh, madam, if you had any silver powder in stock I'd be much obliged. Jessie's getting the diamonds, right?"

Caleb and the apothecary both gave him a smile and a nod. Caleb had used what he'd been inclined to think of as his boyish charm, though it came as a shock to the rest of him when his mind noted that they were almost of an age with her. Twenty years' difference was getting smaller and smaller.

"Yes, and I have taken their requests for any components that might be found here."

"Pardon my asking, but why have we gone separately, then?"

Caleb tapped his fingers absentmindedly on the counter, shifting from foot to foot as the apothecary brought out a large packed of sulphur and opened it for inspection.

"Ah, that will do just fine, thank you. I told Jester that her troupe may want to make some recreational stops before we depart, so I would not want to keep dragging them from shop to shop unwillingly like children on a market day."

Fjord chuckled at the sight that conjured up. "Of course. What's the real reason?"

"Are you suggesting I had other motives?"

"I know you do. I can wait."

They finished up after another ten minutes or so, bowing out the door and on to the sloping, cobbled streets of the market quarter as the wind picked up. It was grey again today, usual winter weather, though none too cold. Caleb's old hair would have blown right into his eyes in some kind of windswept, handsome way, but with the short, choppy cut he had it just made him look ridiculous.

"What do you say we stretch our legs?" he asked. "It will be some time before we can again."

Caleb steered them back the way they'd come, leaving the decision to Fjord.

"I say…that's a good idea." Memories he'd left fallow for years wormed their way back into his head. "The orphanage was kind of on the outskirts, so I didn't get to know this place too well."

"Not until you were older."

"Even then."

When the next cross-street met them with a promising sign and some winding stairs, Fjord took the chance. This could be any place in the world.

He turned, leading Caleb up and through the walled town centre. They passed by merchants and stalls, some wide open and spilling on to the street while others hid behind dusty windows and narrow, shut doors. They chatted about nothing very much. True to himself, Caleb wondered about how the city worked, the flow of trade or the effects of a Tal'Dorei presence. Fjord didn't know the answers to any of his questions, but he did a pretty good job at answering them himself.

"It is a wonder the weather is so fair. We must be as far north as the swamps, but I do not feel any frost. Is there frost, here?"

A wind was picking up and the sky had been overcast since morning. Not a lot of people would call that fair.

"No, just rain. The currents move in from the south. Means we never get cold, even if it's none too hot in the summer."

"There are certainly some attractions to that sort of climate," Caleb mused. "Well, as I grow older. Hm."

They drifted into another narrow street off of an avenue, watching as procession of mule-drawn carts rolled by, heavily laden and blanketed with canvas.

"The rain really gets you down, though. You start to miss the sun after the fourth month."

"Understandable. Perhaps futher south, if the heat is not too much."

While they were waiting for the street to clear, Caleb took the time to adjust his travelling pack.

"You good?"

"But of course." He tipped him a wink. "I did say that I am growing older, Fjord, have you forgotten already?"

"I was only being polite," he grumbled.

A few minutes later, they were again walking down the second main street of the city, following behind the train of carts at a distance far enough that they didn't get the dirt kicked up in their faces. Once or twice Caleb had stopped to examine an unassuming storefront. It turned out they always had some sort of message on the sign in runes, which Fjord hadn't picked up as part of his education. Caleb said they were mostly false advertising. Any second-rate shopkeeper could find a basic utility and label it "magic," even if the magic it had was just enough to clean a boot.

"—not that I cannot see the need to, uh, advertise, but it does make things rather difficult for—" Caleb stopped mid-rant. "Wait—Fjord, did you see snow? Here, that is."

"Uh, no. Like I said, just rain."

"Oh. Then the first snow you would have seen…"

Caleb trailed off. It wasn't unusual for him, but after a moment Fjord realized he was supposed to answer.

"Up north, somewhere. I don't know where we were. It didn't even settle on the ground, much. The first real snow was on the way back."

"That is…I see."

"Why do you ask?"

"There is no real reason. Snows were important to me when I was a little child. They came during the fallow season, when we had already seen a crop to harvest, so there was no work to be done."

Fjord nodded. They only ever had rest days when the orphanage priest said they'd get seriously hurt from more work. And when some of the clients came to inspect. Not all of them. Just the ones who thought they were doing those poor orphans a _favour._

"Well, we didn't have it here. I try to avoid it these days."

"Mm? I suppose it would be unpleasant, if one does not have a roof and a hearth."

"The cold's not the issue. I got caught up in a storm in the mountains once, took me three times the effort just to walk downhill. I'll leave those places to the people who know them."

"That seems practical."

As they crossed with and turned on to the main street, the temple clocktower loomed up above them all of a sudden. Fjord had nearly forgotten about their mission, caught up in the moment and the memories both.

"Caleb, have you been keeping track of the time?"

"Mm, yes. We still should have plenty to stop by an inn. I believe Jester was also planning on returning late with her crew."

"Oh. Thanks."

Caleb looked at him over his shoulder, smiling oddly.

"Why are you thanking me?"

Fjord shrugged. "I lost track of time. Didn't want to be late."

"I would be a bad companion, would I not, if I took you out of your way on some silly little idea and then made us both late."

Something clicked in his mind that must have been turning over for a long time. But—no, that couldn't be it. A queasy feeling rose up in him, not bad, but enough to make his hair stand on end and sent blood rushing to his head like it did in the seconds before a fight. The air swam and rippled in front of him, even though there was no sun and no heat to warp it.

His body was reacting on its own to—it wasn't even a realization. He fought down the feeling of shame. This wasn't it.

"Huh. Is that why we split off from the others?"

Caleb's face froze for a moment, though he turned away quickly kept the slow, leisurely pace they'd been taking. For his part, Fjord couldn't tell if he'd said the wrong thing or if Caleb had just seen his face turn from green to muddy brown. For fuck's sake. He'd just ruined it and made things awkward. Again. The shame was getting stronger.

"Uh, well, I suppose intitially I might have—if you had wanted to find them—I thought that I might not be good with a bunch of teenagers, uh—"

"It's fine." Fjord cut him off. "I just thought, uh, you'd be a pretty good date. You know."

He forced himself to laugh, but that only made it worse. Even if he couldn't see his face, he could still see Caleb's ears turn bright red. Fantastic. And here he'd been trying to make him more comfortable. Great. How was it that he could keep his head on with total strangers, but never his own friends?

"—very much did not mean—Fjord?"

It was probably too much to hope that Caleb hadn't noticed the undertones. Fuck, but he was good at noticing that sort of thing. Fuck. At least that cat was out of the bag now? No, not even that. If Caleb didn't bring it up, he'd have to deal with the knowledge that he _might_ know, that he _could_ have noticed, that Fjord wasn't as smooth as he thought. If Caleb did bring it up? Even worse. He'd have to explain.

"Fjord, are you there?"

Funny. Caleb was at his side now, tapping him on the arm. It could have been sunburn or windburn, but his face was a very interesting shade.

"Hm?"

"I was just saying that I did not mean to, uh, pull you away from anything you wanted to do. It was just a thought that I had, to spend some time here before we leave, and I promise you absolutely that I would never make any sort of advances toward you and that if I did it would be wrong of me to make you so uncomfortable, and I am very sorry if you have felt this way, because then I would have tried to explain myself earlier, and so—"

He pushed Caleb's hand aside, laughing again. This one came out more naturally.

"I said it's fine. I was making a joke."

"Oh. Well, uh, now you know."

Caleb's hand hung in the air over his shoulder for a few seconds longer as they drifted through the street, twitching once or twice so that it felt like Caleb was only just stopping himself from reaching out. It was a hard thing to ignore, though Fjord tried.

Eventually, his hand returned to his side and they kept walking. Caleb was quiet.

Fjord did know, now. Not like he hadn't known before. Whatever Caleb said to him, he was doing what a good friend would do. For all he knew, he was still mourning Astrid. Nott, even. Finding a wife had never seemed like a priority to him. A husband was probably out of the question. Even if he had felt his stomach churn some of the times Essek came around.

Besides, even if the world was a different place and Caleb would somehow want to be with him, how could Fjord accept that? How could he justify telling a person who loved him that there were things he'd never have, never give, and that they could never ask? What he wanted wasn't the friendship they already had, but it wasn't anything more than that. Just for him to be there. Just for him to be honest. Just—trust. Fjord wanted to be there, with him, and not wonder when he'd leave.

A gust of wind blew the leaves and dust up from the gutters of the street, forcing Fjord to shield his eyes. Finally, there was a faint point of light on the horizon where the sun shone through the clouds.

"You said we've got time to stop by an inn?" he asked.

"Mm."

"Let's have that drink. Might be a system moving through."

"Perhaps." He couldn't see Caleb's face, trailing just behind his shoulder. "Do you know of any with good food? This may be our last chance at a good meal."

He relaxed just a fraction. Okay. Caleb didn't notice, then.

"Sure, I think I do."

"Lead the way."

As Fjord stepped forward, slipping through a crowd of workers, he didn't see the drawn expression Caleb wore, nor did he feel the brush of fingertips against his sleeve as he passed by. It went without saying that he didn't see Caleb's hand pulling back and disappearing into his coat pocket, either, or the frown that flickered across his face.

…

The young ones were all safely tucked away in the hidden cabin, with Fjord and Caleb sleeping in the main chamber. Bharim, thank everything, said he had a lot of prep work to do and suggested that she take the night watch instead. It had been a fun day to spend shopping out with everyone, more still because they had been cooped up for a while and were probably going to be cooped up for a while longer. Even Uri's sour look had fizzled away like so much frost when he got his eyes on the cloaks in the shop window. With that many people and Olina's quiet advice, it was child's play to hoist a haycart on to a sturdy-looking roof just outside the dock area. The old nag that had been tied to it stayed on the ground, of course, because if you put a horse on a roof it is very hard to get them down in one piece.

What they bought was food, mostly, components for her and Bharim (Caleb had snuck off with Fjord to buy his own. She ought to thank him for getting him out of her hair, since that was just a little bit more than she wanted to deal with right now), and a few treats for the kids. Maura had very solemnly asked if she could have a real weapon, which was very sweet and they had some cash anyway from Caleb and Fjord's work, so she got her very own polearm. Prithi insisted she was fine using the staffs they'd whittled out of planking on the ship, so that was that, and then Olina got herself a harpoon "for emergencies," she said.

She had felt an overwhelming sense of pride in them, for taking care of themselves and the mission. Also for being polite about spending money, that was important. There was something missing, thought.

That was why she was glad Bharim chose to stay inside.

Jester emerged from the cabin with a lantern, hanging it on the hook by the door before she slid the latch closed. Nights were coming in later now that they were on the Menagerie Coast, but they were still very quick to fall after supper.

Without the lantern, she could still pick out Beau crouched on top of the mast for no real good reason. Humans' eyes could certainly adapt well tonight, but there was no reason for Beau to be out alone other than to wait for someone.

Well, who was Jester to disappoint?

She climbed up steadily, letting her eyes wander out over the sea so she could see the view as she rose. One tall ship, a merchant bound for Nicodranas, sailed away toward the eastern edge of the horizon, leaving the rest of the sea bare around them and blue as ruched silk.

"Enjoying the view?" asked Beau, squishing over to one side of the crows' nest as she hopped in.

"Yep! And you're not."

"Hey, I can see some stuff."

"I know. You just have to look at the stars."

"Yeah."

Beau moved around again, making it so that she could lay her neck back on the edge of the basket and stare straight up at the sky. All the wriggling, writhing feelings that were building up in Jester the whole of the trip had become so big they felt like they filled her up. In just one moment, the light of Polaris flared in her eye and lit something up in Jester. She seized on that spark before it could wink out, taking it into her chest to flicker and grow. Courage would only come once.

"Can I go with you, Beau?"

"Huh?"

"After we kick the bad guys and everyone can go home…can I go with you? Like, as your friend?"

Her claws bit into the meat of her thumb with the effort of not shaking or chattering or brushing it off or doing all the other things Jester wanted to do right now instead of being honest.

"Uh, sure. Weren't we already going to do that?"

"I mean, ya," Jester said painfully, "But-I-just-wanted-to-be-sure-because-you're-very-busy-and-I-don't-even-know-if-I'm-allowed, okay?"

She jumped as Beau's hand landed in her hair, ruffling it out of place.

"Jes, you've always got a place with me. I mean, with any of us, but—this is me saying it. There's not a moment I wouldn't be glad just to have you here."

There wasn't any reason why that should have snapped Jester in two. It had been a weird year. There were so many things she was just dredging up one at a time like snapping crabs in the bay. But, in hindsight, she supposed it could have been that Beau didn't even look at her. She was just lying back with a grin all across her face, watching the stars with far-off eyes.

Jester flinched away, eyes stinging.

"Hey, Jes, you okay?"

A hand landed on her shoulder, never pushing beyond friendly.

"I'm fine, Beau. Actually, I'm very happy!"

"Yeah. You've been working through some stuff, if that's something I can say."

"You can say that. I haven't really been hiding it a lot."

"You don't need to, either."

It was a chilly night. Pretty cold, actually, up here with the wind. Jester was struck by how hot her skin had become. It was a wonder all the water in the air wasn't steaming off.

"I love you, Beau."

She didn't say it, actually. It said itself. It was just truth, right there. Facts. She could have said "It's cold out," or "The moon is waxing," but she just happened to have said that.

"You too, Jes."

"No, I mean—I _love_ you, Beau. And, I know, you're not really looking for anything like that, and you've got your job where you're not allowed to, you know, and all the ladies in Zadash must be already in love with you, so I'm not saying it like that, or anything, but it's true." She took a deep breath. "I love you, I miss Yasha but I know she needs to be home, I had some of the most fun in my life just playing with Nott, I want to go see Caduceus and his family but I was afraid I'd be sad because I don't have my family with me, I think Caleb's too scared of telling the truth that he ends up screwing everything up anyway, I loved Fjord but I haven't been _in love_ with him for eleven years and I think I just spent a lot of my life using somebody to make me feel better because I couldn't ever say what I wanted."

Near the end, her breath was running out and her throat was choking up, so all that big and pent-up rant came squeaking out like a bad axle. Her hands bled.

There was no noise for a long time, other than from her as she caught her breath and the boat where the sails flapped and planks creaked. The world seemed to be a long way away, growing more distant as the lights of Port Damali faded on the edge of the horizon.

She tried not to look at Beau.

It occurred to her that she was moving, pressing against the cool wind at her back as she stood, feeling the rocking motion under her and shifting her weight to compensate. She stepped up on to the edge of the crows' nest now, arms poised to grab the rigging as she jumped down. No one said you had to be _in_ the crows' nest for your watch shift, only that you had to be able to see. The air felt as solid as water or glass, heavy with damp and salt against the feeling of total lightness that stole over her. Sure, she would hold on to the rigging and perch there, but if she stepped out just now she was almost sure she would stop. The weight she had carried for a very long time was gone.

Shifting her weight, she let gravity have its way. It pulled her forward.

Beau pulled her back.

The hand was tight around her wrist, almost enough to hurt. She was held in place, balanced, one leg set firmly down on the crows' nest and the other standing on nothing, Beau's weight pulling back around the fulcrum of her body.

"You're bleeding."

"It's the claws," she whispered.

"Is this what's been eating you?"

"No. It was a couple of different things. I think I just didn't know what to do, which made me do some things I didn't want to."

"Do you want me to let go?"

Jester blinked. Two huge tears swelled up, hot in her eyes and cool on her cheeks.

"No."

With one smooth motion, Beau pulled her back and caught her in a hug, arms around her.

"I think I should say sorry," she said hoarsely.

"Why?" asked Jester.

"I didn't even think about what you were feeling."

"But you did…"

She felt Beau shake her head, shivering once.

"No, no, you don't understand—I've been avoiding you."

"Oh."

"I'm _really_ sorry."

Jester sighed, sinking to her knees and dragging Beau down with her.

"It's okay."

Somehow, there was just enough room for the two of them curled up down here.

"I'm going to trust you to be honest with me, about that."

"I…am," said Jester. "Was this why?"

"Was what why?" asked Beau.

"Did you know I—this—" She floundered. "Did I make you uncomfortable."

"Oh, no. No, no, no, absolutely not, nope. No, I—I didn't know you even could feel that way."

The wind whistled around them, threading through the ropes and gaps in planking.

"I don't think I did, either."

"Mm."

"So, why? It's okay, if you don't want to be around me, but I want to know you have a reason."

A hand stroked down her back, soft and rhythmic. Beau's hand. She clutched at her a little tighter, as if this was going to be the last time.

Was this going to be the last time?

"I thought I was going to get over you."

She realized that Beau was holding her just as tightly as she was holding on.

"So, does that mean we're going to stay together?"

"I mean, maybe let's not get married right now," Beau backpedalled. "But yeah, we could, you know, start, uh, dating. Or something. When we have time, yeah?"

"Ya. I want to do that."

With one last laugh that shook them both, Beau let her go and stood back up. Technically, they were supposed to be keeping a watch up here. Jester could respect that. But, it had been really _nice_ tucked away from the wind.

"Need a hand?" asked Beau.

"I might," she said facetiously. "I am very tired right now."

They clasped hands, already reaching for one another and did not let go, even as they both stood and looked out to the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fjord @ Fjord: you fool. you moron. how could you possibly have taken this perfectly nice outing as between casual acquaintances and compare it to a date. you have ruined the atmosphere. inexcusable  
> Caleb @ Caleb: you unbelieveable buffoon. you idiot. how dare you Fjord into this pointless stealth-date without even the subtlety to let it slip by him. you have betrayed yet again the trust of someone you love by doing this after he confessed to you how terrible he feels about romance
> 
> They pick up on each other's signals and respond appropriately but by gods it's against all probability.
> 
> I mentioned up top that this chapter is mostly unedited, so feel free to point out any typos or segments of like 10 consecutive lines of dialogue. Have fun and stay safe! We only have one or two chapters left, so this might end up being the one project I've ever finished. Here's hoping :)


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaaand we're back! It's the home stretch. Thank you all for coming, and I hope you enjoy today's edition of Caleb Uses Too Many Clauses.

"Fjord!"

Caleb awoke to the creaking of the ship, the roar of wind and water, and, somehow closer than that, Olina's hushed shouts. In truth, what must have woken him was the signal from the wire he had set up by the cabin door, but consciousness was so slow in coming that it was only on hearing her speak that he realized he was no longer dreaming.

Not one minute later, as the muttering across the room streamed right over his head, the ship bucked, and had he not been burrowed firmly into his hammock he would have been thrown to the floor. _That_ brought him back to himself.

"You said Jessie's up there?" he heard.

"And Beauregard. We were on night shift, remember?"

"Yes, that's right."

Now tuned into the conversation, Caleb slowly untangled himself from his coat and canvas blanket, removing Frumpkin by the scruff of his neck—if that was the appropriate anatomy for an octopus—when he nearly rolled on to him.

"Out of the way, my friend," he muttered.

"Okay," he heard Fjord say heavily. "Let me get my clothes on, and I'll be up there."

"Be quick!"

Hands firmly gripping the sides of his hammock, Caleb lowered one foot to the floor, then the other. He stood up just as the ship swayed again, sending him stumbling over to the opposite side. He managed to get his arms out in front of him before he hit the wall, bent double. He braced himself to catch his breath and calm his stomach. There was indeed such a thing as too much hardtack, and it was one meal's worth.

"Rough morning?" asked Fjord. He was sitting in his hammock, pulling on his boots and fastening his cloak around him.

"It is not yet four. I have had many nights later than this."

"You didn't look too good then, either."

Caleb huffed a laugh. "I am touched. Are we in a storm?"

"Not sure. Olina said the weather moved faster than she was expecting, but if she's from the north, she may not be used to the weather down here."

The ship groaned loudly, determined to keep the atmosphere tense. Caleb's over-developed sense of caution told him that there was likely more to worry about, but then it often did. Better to let the experts judge the danger. Breathing slowly, he watched Fjord fasten the final tie that would keep his cloak about his shoulders.

"Should I wake the others?" he asked.

"Up to you. Once I have a look, Beau and I can make a final decision."

"Very well. Good luck out there."

"Hah, don't jinx it."

Fjord's hand landed on his shoulder for half a second as he made his way to the cabin door, wrenching it open to a gust of sea air and forcing it shut behind him.

Well, Caleb was certainly awake now. He would take care of himself first and then wake the others in the walled-off hold, he decided, if the commotion had not woken them already.

A quick movement of his wrist produced those warm, yellow lights he had found himself relying on less and less as his eyes grew used to darkness, but which were still useful in the shadows of the hold, where one lamp guttered. They showed him a small, bare room with his and Fjord's hammocks and piles upon piles of equipment, anything that would be ruined by rain and seawater up on the deck and would be hard to replace.

His bag was hung from the ceiling, tied on to the same rope that held his hammock. Though he had packed light, he—as the arcane mage and navigator—was in charge of more delicate instrumentation than most others on the ship. He had worn his leather boots to bed, so he retrieved the harnesses he had made for rough terrain, so as to strap some additional grip on to his boots. The deck was sure to be slick in these winds, whether or not the roar outside was rain or merely seaspray. Grips, gloves, and hood were all retrieved from somewhere in the bag, and as an afterthought he spelled himself a temporary armour. Better to prepare now than to have to spend some seconds concentrating as debris hurtled towards one's head.

He fastened his coat tight around him, strapping the sleeves close around his wrists. To the best of his knowledge, Caleb was prepared.

Breathing once to centre himself, he raised a hand to push the wall aside at the back of the cabin, into the hidden part where the rest of their crew slept.

As he did, the cabin door burst open again. Jester, lit from below by the yellow glow of his lights, stood braced against the doorway.

"Get everyone up, and get up here yourself! We're going to need help."

And slammed the door shut again, leaving only a light spattering of seawater as evidence that she had been there. Oh, dear. He had been hoping the excitement wouldn't start until they found the slavers.

Pushing aside the door, he hammered on the nearest wall with a flat palm to produce as much noise as he could.

"Hello!" he called. It was still difficult for him to yell without embarrassing himself. "We are in a bit of a situation here, so everyone needs to wake up. Stay here for the time being, but be prepared to take over."

Not stopping to see if that worked, he stumbled forward to the nearest hammock, shaking its occupant by the shoulder as he sent his lights swirling about what was too small to be called a room.

"Wake up, wake up, that's it, yes, good morning Maura, Bharim, are you with us? We have run into a bit of a storm, so best to get ready. Jester says I must meet her on the deck, so just wait for instructions but prepare yourselves and eat something. Hallo, Uri, Prithi, yes, I am aware it is early, three of the clock and forty six minutes if you want to be precise. Bharim?"

The other adult in their little group, a stocky cleric around Beau's age, rose from his hammock and started rummaging through his bag.

"I'm awake, don't worry. Is it pirates?"

"I only just woke, but I believe there is no danger from others. We have run afoul of the weather in some way."

There was some groaning as Maura stood up, hunched over in the pose of late-night partiers or farm girls in small, foul-smelling cabins on rough seas.

"If you can help it, stay under, but it may be good to be out in the fresh air," he advised. "I will be on deck in a minute; let Beauregard know by message when you are ready and she will handle it. Other than that, listen to Bharim, he knows better than I."

Caleb gave them all a curt nod, at least as much as he was able to with a five foot ceiling, and rushed back out towards the deck. The door took a firm tug to open, buffeted on one side by winds, but with both hands and a full-body effort he managed it.

The world that awaited him behind it was a different one.

Wind pushed him back against the door as he wedged it shut, seeming to be a solid force against him as he dashed up the steps to the deck proper, lights swerving ahead of him. Each raindrop hit like hail, somehow finding his skin no matter which way he turned, driven sideways, up and down. The lantern they used outside the cabin had been extinguished, but he could still see clearly in a curious relief.

A sickly, pale light reflected off of the wood, which he followed from the outer glow along as it intensified, looking behind him to see a segment of the mast alight. Beau's figure was silhouetted against the rigging, one end of a rope in her hand as she carried it to the opposite side of the cross-beam. Another loose rope was tied around her waist. At the base of the mast, Olina tugged on a few knots, checking their tightness, then darted over to the side of the ship to do the same. She, too, had a lifeline.

"Hey, Caleb!" Beau shouted down. "Get yourself tied on. Olina can do your knots."

With that, she pushed off from the cross-beam with a leap and landed on another rope tying down the sails, running up it as it it were a broad path. Cool monk shit, indeed.

There was a flash, and then a crack of thunder sounded loud enough to block out all noise but the beat of his heart, leaving only the vibrations of the ship beneath his feet. Damn. He had not fully seen the sky until then and by gods, it boiled with fury. Clouds marched overhead, reaching out in all directions as the ship ploughed forward heedless into…whatever this was. What the lightning had shown him were high waves, and what flew around them was rain.

Filled with a trembling energy, Caleb ran the rest of the way to the base of the mast, feet skidding on the soaked wood even with the chain grips. He kept his balance, though, sea legs turning each start and sway into a driving force. Olina had already run back to meet him, grabbing the end of a rope from the nest of wood and twine and threading it into a rough harness. Caleb stepped into it one leg at a time, precariously, keeping his balance only by a hand on the mast. Working quickly with large, calloused hands, she tightened the rope and tied it with a sailor's knot that Caleb knew, but clearly not so well as she.

"Thank you," he yelled above the noise.

Olina nodded sharply, but did not respond, instead pointing back to where he could see two faint shadows at the tiller.

"I understand!"

She tugged sharply on the knot once, then let him go and, looking up for one careful moment, leapt up into the rigging.

Caleb didn't need to be told thrice. He let the motion of the ship carry him backward, eating up the distance as if he were running downhill, along the ship and up the steps to the quarter-deck, where now the light showed him Fjord and Jester, each standing alongside the tiller, pushing it against the force of the water.

"Beauregard said you would need help," he said.

"Actually," said Jester, "I said we need help first, then Beau told you to help me and Fjord."

"Pardon me," Fjord grunted, straining for a moment as the ship swayed, "But can we leave the semantics? Jes, you can go ahead."

Jester nodded once, keeping a grip on the tiller as she focused on Caleb.

"I have strengthening spells, ya? How about I cast them before we switch out."

"Of course."

So he was to take the tiller, and Jester was to switch out for what Olina had done earlier, with Olina doubling up on Beau's handling of the sails. Better to strengthen himself now when Jester could still hold her place than realize too late that he was no match for her.

He stayed standing where he was as best he could as Jester reached one hand into a pocket, the other one firmly on the tiller, and pulled out a red tuft of weasel fur that she slapped on to Caleb's arm, muttering the words of the spell. He felt no different, but when it came down to the marrow, he knew he would push aside the waves with no more effort than a seasoned sailor would.

"Okay, done!"

She jumped out on to the deck and Caleb took it upon himself to fall back into her place, keeping one hand free for balance.

"Thank you, Jester."

"Just keep us steady! Fjord will explain," she shouted, grabbing her lifeline in one hand and running for the centre deck.

Unsure of what to do, Caleb, looked over to Fjord. His eyes were fixed on some point far away over the bow, and deadly calm.

"Hold the tiller where it is," said Fjord. "I'm not strong enough to keep this up alone. Move it when and where I say."

"Understood."

Finding a more steady stance on the slick planks, Caleb gripped the wood as best he was able and tugged, pinting it right—starboard—as he kept his eyes fixed on Fjord.

"Don't ask me how we got here, but it looks like the winds picked up overnight. Ease up half a point. They blew a storm in."

A wave somehow slammed cross-wise into them as Caleb let the tiller drift back towards the centreline, nearly scraping his fingers raw with the effort it took to hold it as the boat shook, leaping foward like a greyhound at the starting gate into and—somehow—over the next crest, where it perched precariously. Had they not each day been inured to drowning, he would have been struck rigid with fear. As it was, he was simply struck with a heavy, ice-cold wave that overpowered the enchantments on his coat.

"You all right?" Fjord asked, unaffected.

"Fine," he gasped. "I can warm myself up when we have a moment."

There was a certain lightness in his stomach, though it showed no signs of revolt. Ahead of them, the sea again became visible as the nose of the ship crashed down between waves. The impact flew up his bent legs and into his teeth, even forcing Fjord beside him to take a step.

"Right. Well, we won't be long. This system is moving fast enough that it'll pass us by."

Caleb caught his breath rather than replying, readying himself for the next impact. The eerie light coming off of the mast reflected sharply off the sail, casting odd shadows where Beau or Olina swung across, keeping the canvas pulled just shy of breaking. Before he could investigate further, a shower of salt water came down over the two of them there that stung Caleb's eyes.

"In the mean time, the waves it's generating could do some serious damage. Steer port, keep it in place but follow my lead."

Throwing his weight against the wood, Caleb pushed until he felt Fjord's hand move to his own, stopping him. He blinked his eyes open again. Beneath them, at the edge of what he could see when the ship skewed down, Jester pulled ship and sky together with one hand on a rope and the other gripping one of the cleats on the ship, unable to tie down. Olina was shouting directions from above that he could not hear, sending Jester darting this way and that as they sped forward.

"May I ask how we—ah—found this situation?"

"This boat was meant for fast, coastal runs. We're not rated for storms on the open ocean. Beau's got the ropes handled. We've got Jester on standby for damage control, but for now, it's up to you and I to steer clear of anything serious. Stop and hold."

Caleb ground his boots into the deck, bracing his hip against the tiller to let up on his hands and let the blood return to them.

"Could we have steered clear of this storm, at all?"

"Don't know. I can't see much, but it's extensive. We need the speed, as well. Starboard until I say."

They skidded around the side of a swell that was threatening to break.

"Very well," panted Caleb. "I trust you to keep us from harm."

"Centre. You might just speak too soon."

"Well, with Uri's spells we should have no trouble with drowning."

He saw Fjord laugh, but he couldn't hear it. The world around them seemed limited to this very ship; an impenetrable blackness crowded in on all sides but one, where the sea stood. The mast and his globes may have been the only light in existence. With nothing else to see, Caleb watched the light play across Fjord's skin, throwing the scars and sharp planes of bone into contrast. He looked more to be a painting than a living being, except for when a flash lit them all up and lightning darted down the sky.

"We need to keep the boat in one piece. It's far more than a week's walk back to shore if we lose her."

"You make a fair point."

They flew on.

The nervous energy that had filled Caleb when Fjord was first called out was subsiding, leaving him too tired to spare a thought. What he did now was concentrate on the spell that wove around his arms and the instructions Fjord gave, pushing against the whole of the ocean to keep them moving forward. The craft yawed and shuddered with every movement, never quite tipping over with the second-by-second changes they were able to force upon her. Perhaps it was unwise to try and ride the storm, but the fact remained that they moved faster than since they had set out.

Still, it was trying. No more than seventeen minutes in, he found himself losing concentration on the spell and bit his lip to re-centre himself. The cold which had at first been bracing now just numbed him, draining his body heat in a way he knew was unsustainable. A quick spell would take care of it, gods knew they had some magic to spare, but the fact was that they were straining. Nor could they call on the others for help. They would be willing, certainly, but guiding their ship now required precision. Better for them to stay in the cabin. Even he was here, he knew, as a precaution for what Jester's spells could not do.

He kept his mind on the wood beneath his fingers, heaving to and fro as Fjord demanded even as his fingers screamed. Just an hour, less, even, and they might be clear of this. No storm could move this fast and be so wide.

Caleb could not help but count the minutes.

At nineteen minutes, Olina lost her grip and was caught by the grace of chance and by Beau's uncanny speed, who had her by the wrist and swung her back into the ropes before she even fell a metre. At twenty-three, a surge of wind lifted Jester off the ground, leaving only her whitened fingers to hold her down. The light showed the twist of her mouth as she struggled, gritting her teeth against the storm. The lifelines and the magic guaranteed them some measure of safety, but it was really very little when there were three metres of slack and the deck of the ship was reaching up towards you. The water could still bruise ribs even if it could not choke you. They struggled on.

"Hard port, then ease off to one point," said Fjord at minute twenty-seven.

For just a moment, even, the sea had calmed enough for Caleb to catch his breath, though the wind and water still filled up their faces. He shoved the tiller to the side again, delivering them down into the trough between waves and looking to Fjord for approval.

"Yeah." Keeping a hand beside Caleb's, Fjord glanced over his shoulder. "Hold it there—shit, brace yourselves!"

The words were so loud they rang Caleb's skull like a bell, and then they were the least of his problems.

He struggled for a moment as the water came down on him, before remembering to breathe.

They were engulfed.

Every part of him had already been soaked, but this flood worked its way through every seam of clothing. His hands had already been locked on to the tiller with all his arcane strength and frozen there by cold, and so they kept him there as he was lifted off his feet and carried backward, half-swallowed. Even floating with no floor beneath his feet, they held him.

Even as he felt Fjord's hands lose their grip.

Caleb fell out of the wave like he was reborn, crashing to his knees on the deck as the water drained around him.

In a panic, he scanned the ship through blurred eyes. Two shapes in the sail, one on the deck. Nothing beside him but a lifeline pulled taut. The ship swayed dangerously as it was carried along, no longer guided through this shifting maze. Before he had taken a breath of air he was on his feet, tugging twice at the lifeline and looking back along it, into the darkness as if he could see just by willing it. He felt no response.

Fjord might breathe and return, or he might be torn away from the ship, with the rope stretched as it was.

Jester shouted, but there was no hesitation before Caleb loosed his lifeline, picking the knot apart as he spoke the incantation of a spell. The cold in his fingers was no object as he forced them under his control, letting the rope fall from him as the last word settled on his lips.

He jumped from the ship, flying over the seething iron-grey as another spell took shape that he had learned in desperation a long time ago. This one didn't require anything but a word, which he shouted in desperation.

The wind died. Sounds stopped, and the earth seemed to fall away as he followed his lights into the darkness to the end of the rope. Whatever storm was around them, he didn't know. 

Time inside this bubble was short as he raced foward, scanning the water. The sea had churned up muck and creatures, making waves as thick as ink where they were frozen. Still, when Caleb found Fjord, he knew.

Stopped in time, Fjord's body hadn't yet sunk beneath the waves. A body it was. Fjord's head leaned back at an odd angle, while the rope of the lifeline wrapped around his neck.

Caleb bit down on his lip. There would not be much time to do this. The moment he touched Fjord, he would fall out of time, dragged down into the sea with him if he tried to carry him fully.

He hovered just above the surface of the water, surrounded by utter nothing and staring at a corpse he…knew. Had seen before. There were wondrous things in this life and the sight of Fjord's chest heaving moments after he was killed in front of Caleb was what went above them all. Bharim would save him. Or Jester, failing that. This was one thing in life that Caleb just could not give him. Among so many.

Caleb grabbed him by the arm.

At once, the world crashed back into being. The weight of Fjord dragged him down even as the waves pushed down on top of him. With the last bit of air, Caleb shouted into the roar of the storm.

The spray consumed them, and then they were falling again, into the water some metres away, as Caleb shouted again. Once more, and they would be on the ship. The little strength he had kept them aloft for the seconds it took to cast the spell again, leaving them to fall down on the deck of the ship.

They did. Fjord's corpse hit the stern deck with a thud as Caleb let him go, releasing the spell and falling beside him. His fists slammed down against planking as he caught himself, gulping in air. Even more than before, they were battered by the waves. He had not yet found himself again when Jester hauled him up, dragging him back to the tiller, fingers cold and slipping off his sleeve with the wet.

"Cast your spell again!" she shouted. "I'll guide you, but it takes two of us to steer."

Caleb did as he was told. His body was numbed and distant but he scrambled back, fumbling with the pouches inside his coat and spitting out the words he would need between breaths. He had just barely reached the tiller when the ship swayed dangerously, tipping him on his side. It would have thrown him off, almost, into the great swirling blackness, had Jester not held fast to him and hauled him to his feet as a great wave swelled up right underneath the ship, steadying them.

"You're lucky Bharim's here! Now steer us left!"

Jester put his hands down on the tiller and gripped it herself, hauling with all her strength to right them. Belatedly, Caleb pushed, and at last it budged. Jester was right. Now, in the lifeless light he could see Bharim tied down with a lifeline at the base of the mast, holding down the ropes as Jester had done earlier. Beau and Olina still stood aloft. It all was as before, their craft a will o' the wisp drifting insubstantial on the waves, and yet it was not.

"Okay, back to centre. To centre, Caleb!"

The weight of water soaking him now seemed to drag him down as tar. Fjord's body lay in front of them.

"Go right."

Their crew was fighting the storm and they would fix him, they could fix him, but still tied by his lifeline was Fjord, his neck broken and his body turning cold and hard. This was the part of their adventures that he had forgotten. He remembered the thrill of combat and of firelight, of taking himself to within an inch of death and not beyond, but what he could not remember was the sight of him. Of them. Of all of them.

"Hold on, now."

Caduceus, Fjord, and Nott, who returned to him and Molly, who to this day was a book unopened and a path not followed. His being floated in Caleb's mind, half a memory of a friend they had, half a cipher for all that Caleb could not understand about himself.

"More right! Come on, Caleb."

This was not the first time he had watched Fjord die and—truthfully—it may not be the last. Why did his stomach churn like this?

"Keep it there."

It was the words. They were boiling up and spitting sickly in his gut. Without the onslaught of freezing water, he was sure he would be sweating chill. Gods, he felt sick. He would most likely talk to Fjord again in an hour, after this storm was over and that was…not now.

A quarter of an hour ago he could have said anything and now he was mute and unable to get rid of the words that crowded out his insides.

Odd. The sea and sky had been so loud and now they faded into nothing. The three at the mast shouted words he could not hear and even Jester's calls only just reached his ears.

The storm died after eight minutes more.

Caleb could not say how they survived that long or even that they did, but the fact remained that he found himself standing on an even deck with water dropping off of and not on to him. His fingers were locked around the tiller still, though Jester had released them and run forward to confer with the others. The bucking movement of the ship had thrown Fjord's body to and fro, though the lifeline kept him connected. His body was wedged hard up against the side, slumped half up against a barrel. The bones of the broken neck now poked through the skin.

The light on the mast flickered out, then jumped back again as a cantrip was re-cast.

There had been sheer darkness for one moment.

Caleb was utterly alone.

One by one, he unstuck his fingers from their grip. The strength spell still thrummed in his veins, though where it had warmed him before now it was too hot, burning almost cold. He walked across the deck, moving by the faint grey, lifeless light to Fjord's side.

It felt wrong to touch him like this.

Caleb pulled him out on to the deck and laid him on his back, straightening his stiff limbs. He turned his palms face-up, the fingers already curled in over themselves. Then, putting a hand to either side of his head, he moved Fjord's head, waiting for the grind of bone to tell him that his neck was straight. He closed his eyes and, strand by strand, pulled the hair from his face. Though he could lift him, with this borrowed strength, he left him there. No matter how grim, it would do him good to breathe fresh air when he woke.

There was some noise. He was aware of footsteps. The children had come up from the cabin where they were safe and were talking with the others, hurried and not loud but making no effort to be quiet.

"I suppose I am needed," he murmured, patting Fjord on the cheek. "Don't go anywhere."

He stood up, patting down his sodden coat, and marched over to the group, which parted for him.

"We will all need to warm up soon, I think," he said. "Prithi, Maura, Uri, you may take over our sailing for the time being. Olina, Beauregard, I can dry us off in the cabin."

Nodding slightly, he turned his back on the young ones' chatter. He could feel Jester's eyes on him and Beauregard's glare, but as he walked they seemed to follow. He did not know what they had discussed before. It was clearly not important enough to continue.

From the mast he stumbled on the still-swaying deck and down the stairs to the cabin, opening the door with one swift tug. His hands were so cold he barely felt them grasp the handle. Yes, it would be vital to dry themselves. Even through the layers of wool and oilskin they all wore, the water could sap them faster than a spell.

As they ducked into the dim cabin, lit by his own still-dancing lights and one lamp, now, none of them said a word beyond what was necessary. Olina seemed exhausted by the situation, but Beau would be thinking to herself. Let her. They were ahead of schedule and they had stores of magic. They had weathered the storm and ridden it far. There was no reason to be worried and no better way this could have gone.

Except the way that did not chip at their component stores. Diamonds were dear, though Jester always carried them and Beauregard had given most of her funds for more.

Finding his way to his hammock, Caleb sat down heavily on the floor. Better not to soak his bedroll, if he still wished to have a night's rest. Beau stayed standing by the door and Olina awkwardly sat down as well, already working at the knots of her jerkin's laces. She clearly knew what she was doing, even if she was young.

"I can," Caleb said vaguely, "Dry you all off when you are wearing clothing, but it is much easier to do skin. Um, though you can keep your clothing on."

Beau's coat landed on the floor with a thud, followed by her overshirt, trousers, and belts. Caleb was far slower, still clumsily working at his boots. There were so very many pieces of clothing on him and each one of them was ice cold and soaking.

"It'll warm you up, too," said Beau. "Hey, kid, you did pretty well with your balance."

"Oh. Thank you."

Peeling off the second of his socks, Caleb took a moment to prepare a flame. Beau was down to her wool tunic already, holding out a hand for him to start on.

"How have you been practicing?" Beau asked conversationally as he went to work. He liked to think he was on good terms with their crew since they joined together, but Beau had a closeness with them that he could not claim yet. "I thought you were trying to focus on strength."

There was a way she had with people that he had almost forgotten. Nothing so much like charm. When Beau spoke, she conveyed a sense of honesty. Sometimes it took others a long while to warm up to it, as he had, and so it didn't work well as a tool for them to use. What it did do was build relationships. Beauregard was so firm, so knowing that it was hard to truly chafe against it. The best you could do was resent her for being so.

"I am," said Olina. "I suppose that came with it."

In fact, Beauregard had been the first person whose character he trusted. Nott, he trusted their friendship. Their bond. They needed each other, and he had bet that she needed him enough not to throw him away. Beau, though, there had been no connection between them but their species. She had walked entirely in another world from him, younger, coarser, and, very frankly, annoying. He had been honest with her because he felt he could be, nothing more than that.

"Yeah. Balance is all about being aware of your body. If you pay attention to your training, it gets easier to try and work with yourself. Maybe it's good to have natural balance, but if you know what you need to do to right yourself or keep your footing, that's half the battle. That's some good work you did."

He had been honest with Beauregard when she was nothing to him but a library pass. Just now, he had been honest with Jester when she was an old friend who may not forgive him. There were many times and places that he had been honest, summoning his courage and dulling his fear to speak out and reach another person in the way that he must.

"You're certain?"

Each time, he had failed to be honest with Fjord. He was right, gods be damned, and he had known he was. Caleb had not lied to him. Nor had he been honest.

"Hey, I'm the expert. You done there, Caleb?"

"Ah—um," he said. The conversation had gone somewhat over his head. "One more minute, please."

In silence but for the hum of the flame, he dried the water from Beau's legs and cast over her a spell of endurance that he prepared.

"Thanks," she said. "I'll just get on a change of clothes."

"Do you even have any?" he asked.

"Fine, I'm putting on my bedroll. The kids can handle the sailing until I'm done squeezing our stuff out."

Beau kicked her thing to the side. She and Jester used the hammocks in the front cabin durign the day when Fjord and Caleb were awake, and so he supposed she was allowed to keep the sodden pile here. At the very least, he did not have the energy to object.

"Olina, don't let this guy give you any crap. He's been wearing the same thing since I met him."

She gave him a look that he very nearly missed before padding into the back cabin. No, she didn't give him a look. She observed him, eyes half-hidden by the shadows. And then in a moment she had passed, stretching her neck and yawning like a teenager.

"Is that true?" asked Olina.

"It is, yes," he sighed. "Are you all right for me to warm you up? If you wish, you can dry yourself and I can simply give you protection from further harm."

"It's your magic, but I think I've had enough of the cold," she said evenly. It occured to him that there was something of Caduceus in her.

"Very well."

Working quickly, he ran the flame over her back and arms while she sorted through her own pile of wet clothing, dividing it by some strategem that escaped him.

"Do people die often?" she asked suddenly.

"What do you mean?"

"When you're working. You don't seem upset."

He kept his concentration on his magic, trying not to let the flame flare and burn her.

"Oh. Um. Most of my time travelling was spent with people who commune with the divine. That is, Jester and Fjord, who you know, and Caduceus, who was Fjord's teacher. You may have heard his name."

"I've heard stories about him."

"Then it is true that I have not had any reason to be afraid of death for a long time. I was working as a teacher for almost ten years, do you know? But I have mourned people who died violently."

"Mm. I don't know a lot of people who died before their time. My friend's cousin was lost at sea."

Caleb waited for her to continue, but that seemed to be the end of her story. She had finished sorting her clothes.

"I am sorry. However, Fjord will live. This is not the first time, even, that he has been killed."

"Jester said he'd be fine."

With one last faint gust, he finished drying her arms.

"There you have it. Would you stand up, please?"

She did so, bending sharply. Out in the open air, she stood inches over Caleb and a full foot over Beau.

"I don't think she was sure, though. She looked scared."

"Well, then she has no reason to be," he said, more shortly than he had intended.

"Are they friends?"

Olina had not understood, or she had decided to ignore his signals that this was as far as he would take the conversation.

"Yes, I'm sure Jester and Beau have told you many stories about our group."

"They did. I haven't seen Jester and Fjord talking, unless it was about our plans or something."

"That may be. We are still all friends."

"Okay. I guess Beau isn't really upset, either."

Caleb was certain that the woman in question was eavesdropping on their conversation, but with impressive subtlety she had chosen not to say anything. There were still the muffled sounds of movement coming from behind the dividing half-wall and nothing more.

"You would have to ask her that," he said. He stood up, tapping Olina on the shouder with the same spell he gave to Beau. "You are free to go."

"Thank you."

Picking up one pile of things under each arm, Olina loped into the back cabin as well, leaving Caleb to remove the rest of his clothing and finally do something about his chattering teeth.

He moved automatically, taking off his things one layer at a time. With the little time they had and the few things he'd brought, everything he wore seemed a part of his body. Gloves, coat, undercoat, tunic, belts, shirt, and trousers. The oilskin book bags were dotted with water, but the wax seals on them stayed unbroken. Besides, he made a point to copy each spell in graphite so that it could not be washed away. The noises from the other half of the cabin kept him company, hushed conversation, or else his thoughts might have taken him away.

Jester had seemed, well, happy. Since they set off, her step was light. He had not asked exactly, but between her winks and nudges and sly smiles, he had an inkling. For her to be upset now—no. She could not be wishing there was something she said to Fjord. At least, not of that nature. The feeling Caleb had was ugly and unacknowledged, but he could not help but know that a part of him would rather she hate Fjord than marry him.

No.

What made Jester feel for her friend was the hurt that lay there that was never resolved, not the things that he had rising up in him like bile. He was not late. He had not lost. The hatred he felt—of himself, of his silence—wasn't justified. There was always going to be a time ahead, waiting for him.

With a breath and a whispered incantation, he generated such a heat within himself that the water streamed off of his skin. This did not work on others; it was a spell he made for himself. The fine-tuning it required could only be done over a long time, precluding anyone but him from this spell.

The reason he had ever left was to make sure that he went to his grave at peace, knowing that he had tried for everything and maybe failed, but never passed by his happiness and wasted time. That was what he failed to do. He had done so many things and—

Failed.

Hearing a noise, he waited, watching. Beauregard and Olina walked past him as he set to drying his clothes, the flame too bright in the darkened cabin. Their faces became uncanny when lit like that. Olina paused. Beau did not.

Disregarding him completely, she wrenched open the hatch without hesitation and stepped up into the pale-lit night. Olina followed, and he was alone.

He felt as if he understood.

It had been Jester who he talked to, and yet Beau was the one who knew him. Without saying anything even as her—their—dear friend died, she had given him a message: _what you do is your choice_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three things:   
> 1) This entire fic was co-sponsored by folk metal and Great Big Sea (specifically Up and Hard and the Easy)  
> 2) It was hard to find a situation that would inject actual mortal drama with Level 20 characters, so I hope this works! The spells Caleb is described using are actual DnD spells, but DnD spells are built for mechanics rather than narrative, so I'm not going to go into that.  
> 3) If you're not the type to check the w/f tag on tumblr several times a day because work is slow, there are some great water-related drawings that just got posted so head on over there!
> 
> I was reading through the comments on this fic again a while back, and I can't say how glad I am to have the handful of readers that I do. You're a kind, eloquent, and fun bunch, even leaving aside your impeccable taste.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh  
> (Wave Over Wave - Great Big Sea)

Fjord strained against the weight on his chest, sucking in a breath that hurt.

There were voices passing back and forth somewhere. It was a language he knew. He was sure of that. He just couldn't make out what they were saying. The voices, too, sounded familiar.

It was drowned out by the ache. Gods, he hadn't been this stiff since…some long time ago. Pretty much every part of him complained as he shifted position, trying to get comfortable.

His head wasn't great, either. Had he been out drinking? His tongue was thick and dry. If he opened his eyes, he was sure they'd scrape like sandpaper and give him nothing until they'd had a chance to tear up.

Somewhere, the voices got louder. Fjord wished they'd quiet down. From the feel of it, he hadn't even made it to his hammock. There was hard, rough wood under him and not even a half-rolled jacket or rope pile for a pillow. And he'd been on his back. It was a wonder he hadn't suffocated in his sleep.

He rolled over. If he was lucky, he could coast on the fatigue and fall back to sleep for a half hour more. It didn't feel like it was light out.

Someone shook his shoulder. Some people just had no respect for their crew. He batted the hand away, curling in on himself more.

"'m sleeping," he said, or tried to say. His voice came out hoarse and strangled. There had definitely been alcohol involved, then.

The same hand tapped him lightly on one cheek.

"Fjord, come on."

Another pair of hands, with wider fingers, started to pry open his arms. Fine. If they wanted him awake that much, they'd have to deal with the consequences.

"What do you want?" he grumbled. He tried to open his eyes.

All he could make out was grey light before he had to close them again.

"Don't worry, you can sleep later." This voice was different, less familiar. It sounded all right. "Come on."

"We'll get you up!"

Both hands helped him to sitting as he curled in on himself, wincing again as he pulled on muscles in his neck he didn't know could hurt like that. At least his clothes were still on, from the feel of it. That wasn't always the case.

One the hands, from the smaller pair, it felt like, wiped his eyes over with a wet cloth.

"Thanks," he said.

As the water— _fresh_ water—trickled into the cracks in his skin, he finally felt able to open his eyes again. He blinked. Blurs and scratches resolved themselves into two faces, which kicked his memory into action.

The light—the storm—the wave—the noise—the silence.

"Shit," he said. "I died, didn't I?"

"You did," said Bharim. "We managed."

Jester just nodded, frowning. She knelt on the deck, hands resting on her skirts, while Bharim was busy inspecting his neck for _something_. From the feel if it, he must have been choked. They were sitting near the stern; he could see the mast throwing light on the deck as a different crew scampered around doing inventory or some such. The mage and Beau's girl, he picked out. From the creaking behind him, the farmer had to be on the tiller. The storm must have passed. The sail was full, but there was nothing like the speed they had before. He could see lightning far-off, flickering. It didn't light the sky up in the same way. They were safe.

"I see you did," he said.

Something was kicking at the back of his mind, trying to catch his attention.

"You've healed up well," said Bharim. "Just don't try anything big for another few days. I hear that you're familiar with the resurrection process?"

It may have been his imagination, or Jester might have been watching him for something. He felt like he was failing a quiz.

"Yes, I've been killed before, uh, one or two times. I'll take it slow until I can heal fully."

The ship rocked slowly beneath them as they slid into the blackness, uncovering one stretch of ocean at a time. The faint thundering of the storm ahead was overlaid on the constant rush of the ocean, filling out the world so there wasn't much room left in it for conversation. Between everything that was going on, he was starting to get dizzy. It took most of his concentration just to listen to Bharim. Somehow, his ears were going numb. The world was faded, like a failed illusion. Two more figures had joined the ones he saw hopping about on the ship. Beau and—who was the other one—

"All right. How do you feel about moving to the cabin? The fresh air might be good for you, but I don't think it's a good idea to sleep up here."

"Sure," he said. What was he missing? There was something… "We got any empty buckets?"

"Since you ask—"

" _Caleb."_ Fjord came back to himself with a gasp. "Sorry—where's Caleb?"

Bharim didn't bat an eye. "Drying himself off in the cabin. We're not all as hardy as you, so he offered to do Beau and Olina. I hear we'll have to do a few repairs tonight if we want to keep this boat together, so we need all hands on deck."

"He's not hurt?"

"Seemed just fine to me, physically."

"Okay," he said. "Okay." And started to cough.

He realized that maybe one of the reasons he was going numb was that he was soaked through. The wind was still enough to chill him, even if it wasn't a gale. Bharim's steady hand smacked him on the back, settling him down.

"Careful, now. We put you back together right enough, but there might still be some water left over."

"Ya," Jester chimed in for the first time. "We had to cut another hole in you to drain you out."

"That's disgusting," he said. "Thank you."

She did give him a small smile, which he returned. The cabin, small and fishy though it was, was starting to sound pretty good right about now.

"Let's get you up," said Bharim. "Jester?"

Fjord let them get into position. He could probably stand up on his own. Almost certainly. It didn't hurt to do things the easy way, mind.

"Three, two, one, _up_."

With a tug, the two of them stood and lifted Fjord to his feet. One of his arms was around each of their shoulders, holding him up as he tried to find his balance on the deck. Were his feet even touching the ground? They had to be, since it didn't feel as cold under them as it might if he were just hanging in the air.

"Are you all right walking on your own, Fjord?" asked Jester.

"You know, I probably am. Uh, thank you for all the help. Both of you. It goes without saying that I'd rather not die at the moment. So, thank you."

"We like you better when you're alive, too," said Bharim. "I'd best be going. Beau said she'd need some help moving everything back to where it was, so—Fjord, Jester."

Bharim ducked out from under Fjord's arm with a nod, slipping out of sight behind them. Fjord didn't manage to regain control over his limbs before his arm flopped loosely into his side, sending him stumbling into Jester.

"I don't really think you should be walking right now," she said reproachfully.

"Yeah."

He tried to focus on the mast, tilting at slight angles as the winds blew.

"Try to move when I say. Okay, step."

He slid forward. How the kids were running across the deck like it was nothing, he didn't know. His stomach was starting to object to the idea of standing up.

"That's good! Okay, let's go again. Three this time…step, step, step—now you've got it!"

With Jester's arm around his waist supporting most of him, they managed to cross the aft deck and jump down the stairs to the cabin, which put an awful shock into Fjord's ankles that nearly put feeling back in him.

"I think I should probably talk to you," said Jester, dragging him along, "But I think I can let it wait until later, ya? Just get some rest. And say thank-you to Caleb."

She opened the cabin door after a few tries with her free hand. He would have helped, but the nausea was coming back with a vengeance.

"Thanks, Jes," he mumbled. "How about that bucket?"

"Sure, sure," she muttered, then called into the cabin. "Caleb! Fjord needs a bucket."

They got down into cabin in one step, and, after a few false starts, managed to get Fjord laid out in his hammock. It couldn't be less comfortable. Fjord could feel unconsciousness closing in. Caleb's lemon-yellow lights gave just enough light to see by, though Fjord couldn't seem to find him. Jester was saying—something, probably, and Caleb showed himself a moment later, running in from the back carrying the pail they used for kitchen scraps. Fjord couldn't make out what they said.

A minute later, Jester left and shut the door behind him, and Caleb crouched down by his side, tying the handle of the bucket around with a rope and attaching it to the hammock. Smart. It wouldn't slide around then, if the boat rocked.

A hand pushed Fjord's hair back from his forehead, tucking it behind his ears.

"Welcome back," murmured Caleb. "Stay with me for a little longer, will you?"

A softer, orange light bust in Fjord's eyes as Caleb summoned his fire. The room swam around it until nothing was left but the flame.

"All right," he said.

"We don't want you this wet right after you come back. It's not good for your health."

Fjord felt the warmth on his chest first—he wasn't wearing his shirt or armour, and wasn't that odd—and then his arms. He fell asleep before he noticed any more.

…

Beau looped the lifeline rope around her arm, one end held in her left hand as her right wound the loose side around and under her bent elbow. The storm was still stirring things up far in the distance, but outside of a thin streak of lightning here and there or the mumbling thunder, it may as well have never existed. Their boat was just swaying in the waves like it did on any cloudy night.

"That was a close one," she said. "Olina says she wouldn't have taken much more."

To her side, Jester re-stacked the staves and polearms that had broken loose.

"She?"

"The boat."

"Oh. Yes, we are very lucky right now."

"We're also about a day, half a day ahead. Worth the risk."

Jessie didn't seem to notice, testing the point of a carved javelin for sharpness.

"Mm, we do need to be going fast."

"Jes." Beau said. "Do you think it was worth the risk?"

"What?"

"You seem kind of quiet."

With a faint huff, Jester put the javelin back on the pile. She smoothed out her skirts, squeezing her hands to send more blood to her gloved fingers.

"I do, don't I."

"Is this about Fjord?"

"Yes? I don't know, he came back very easy and I didn't even have to do the spell."

"It's been a while since we really had to think about being killed, eh?"

Throwing the finished coil of rope down on to the pile, Beau grabbed another lifeline from around the mast and started to reel it back in.

"So were you scared?" asked Jester.

Beau had to be honest, there. Jester looked more pensive than worried.

"A little," she said. "There wasn't a lot I could do, Caleb moved so fast. Hah, and then I had other things to worry about, since we lost control."

"Ya, that makes sense to me, too. I was more worried about everyone falling in."

"There you have it, then."

Of course, nothing was as simple as that. Beau just concentrated on the rope and the pull of the sail while she waited for Jes to get her thoughts together.

"I think I'm going to talk to Fjord tomorrow, because we're going to have to rely each other a lot if we want to really fight together and find whoever's doing all of this," reasoned Jester. "Also, because we work really well together, since you're fast but you're not actually very strong, ya? And Caleb is weak."

"Good idea," said Beau. "Talking, I mean."

Jester squinted at her, tilting her head to the side just a little, so Beau did it right back, setting her right hand down on her hip.

"Are you making fun of me?" asked Jester.

"Mm, kind of."

"You think I should have talked to Fjord before we decided to go work together."

She didn't miss a beat, if it was other people's problems. Not the point. How Jester dealt with _Jester's_ problems was the real issue here.

"I think you should try not to diss your _girlfriend_ when you're working out your personal problems."

"What, it's not like you're very good at lifting things. Maura had to help you with the barrels!"

Jester threw her hands up in a complicated shrug, batting away the rope that Beau flicked at her.

"Geez, you don't have to bring it up again," mumbled Beau. "You're all right, though?"

As Beau pulled the rope back in, Jester gave her a smile.

"Oh, ya. It's just been a long night, you know?"

"Tell me about it. I think I'm going to sleep right through until next shift."

"I wish," groaned Jester. "Fjord's going to be hogging the hammock until noon, I know it."

"He's a grown man, he can sleep on the floor."

…

Fjord felt about the same waking up as he had coming back from the dead. His head was spinning and his eyes were crusted over like anything.

This time, though, he was vaguely aware of where he was. The hammock swung gently to and fro in the front of the cabin. Had he thrown up? He didn't remember, which had to be a good sign.

He took stock of himself. Some sweat, but not a lot, no smells outside of the usual cabin stink, feeling in his hands and feet, a pain in his neck, no shirt and no tunic, just the basic linen trousers he wore under his armour, and his cloak laid over top of him like a blanket.

There was no hurry for him to wake up if no one was down here to get him.

Turning over, he let himself drift away again without opening his eyes. It was harder to fall asleep again this time, with the ache and the stink. Still, he managed to let the world slip away one bit at a time, relishing in the warmth.

His head was empty of thoughts. What with everything that happened, it was all he could do to just remember his own name and Caleb's. Like a man on the crows' nest looking through a telescope, all he had to ground him was the sway of the ship. To one side, and then to the other. It measured the time passing by with a number that Fjord couldn't make meaning of.

Someone opened the cabin door what felt like an hour after he first woke up, even if it was probably five minutes. There was a creak, a short burst of gull cries and footsteps, and then another extended creak as the door shut. Footsteps padded across the planks.

"Fjord?"

It was a murmur no sleeping man could hear. If he pretended, Caleb probably would just let him go back to sleep.

"Hm. You're going to have an awful crick in your neck tomorrow," Fjord heard him say, talking to himself. The voice grew closer. "Though it's no wonder, I suppose."

Then, a pair of hands moved over him, tucking the edges of his cloak back into the hammock a bit at a time. His guts twisted up with fondness.

"Morning," he said.

The hands froze. By the time he opened his eyes, they were folded behind Caleb's back where he stood over him, surrounded by his lights.

"Sorry," he whispered, "Did I wake you?"

"No," Fjord said honestly. "I was just deciding whether to get up. _Is_ it morning?"

Nodding, Caleb knelt down beside him so they were face-to-face.

"It is eleven thirteen. Beau, Jester, and Olina are all sleeping in the main cabin, so we may wish to keep our voices quiet."

"I think my throat's too sore for speaking anyway," he joked, regretting it when Caleb's face drew in on itself. "Sorry."

The frown faded like morning mist, leaving a small smile. Each look from Caleb seemed calculated to pierce him, because that's what it did.

"Don't apologize. I was only…you do know that you broke your neck, do you?"

Fjord's hand went there without his say-so, trying to feel for an edge in the bone that wouldn't be there.

"No," he said. "That would explain some things, though."

"I thought as much."

Caleb reached out again, taking Fjord's hand away from his neck and holding it on the edge of the hammock.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

"Yes, I believe so. We are more than half of a day faster than before. Olina says our craft will not break before we reach our destination," said Caleb matter-of-factly.

"But," said Fjord.

It was…hard to know what he felt here. The feeling of Caleb's hand in his had sent a stirring up his spine that he knew pretty well, but that was never something he'd told Caleb, even when he was being honest. He was happy to have Caleb this close. Only, with him this close, it occurred to him that they could be closer.

He watched, and tried to memorize each look on Caleb's face.

"I think there are some more things that I need to explain," said Caleb. "It can wait until you've rested."

Fjord waited for more, but he just looked away and made to get up. Fjord gripped his hand.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said. "You can talk to me."

He meant it.

Caleb relented, or seemed to; he stayed seated.

"Okay." He paused, mouth half-open, like he was sure what he was going to say but just couldn't decide what words to use. "We are going to travel together, when all this is done."

"If that's what you want," said Fjord. A thing like vertigo was stirring up in his stomach.

"It _is_ , Fjord. But—before we do, I want to know what you need me to be," Caleb stammered, the vertigo only increasing as he did. "I will go with you as your friend, as your teacher, as your helpmeet, anything just—I know that sometimes people will do things without understanding what they mean. So, tell me who I should be."

The light was low, and Caleb's eyes were as wide as he'd ever seen them. It was familiar, this. The rush of blood in his veins was the same as when he was torn off the ship. Fjord could barely force himself to breathe.

"What do you want to be, Caleb?"

"I told you," said Caleb, as if anything could ever be that simple. "I want you to be happy."

"I'm already happy," he said.

"Then I am glad, but that could yet…I think I am still capable of hurting you."

This was fear. Fjord swallowed hard. "What are you talking about?"

Something flashed quick as lightning through Caleb's face that he couldn't make out.

"Fjord, please, I—tell me what you need." It was almost begging, except for that it couldn't have been. "That I can become, if—anything you want me to be, I will. I swear this to you. Anything."

Fjord's heart pounded in his chest as he stared at him, searching for any sort of clue that would tell him the right answer. How could he say that to him? How could he?

"You don't mean that," he rasped.

And Caleb's hand was on him, brushing his hair from his eyes and holding him steady, holding him close, so that there was no where to look but Caleb's eyes which he couldn't even see, not like he was now.

His face fell. There was no pride left.

"You can't mean that."

Caleb stayed there, letting him cry out the humiliation. At least he didn't say anything. Fjord couldn't handle it if he did. He just held him and ran the pad of his thumb over Fjord's eye, pushing away what was left of the tears.

He did his best to be quiet. The girls needed their sleep, and in truth, he'd done more crying in a crowded bunkroom than anyone could suspect him of. It wasn't difficult to keep it down, channel it, let it flow out of him less like white water and more like delta mud.

At last, when he felt like he was able to come back, something pressed against his forehead.

He opened his eyes just to see Caleb's eyes shut. His hands were still around his head, but Fjord knew that if he leaned away, they would let him go.

They didn't. They didn't need to.

"I do," said Caleb.

He pulled away from Fjord just by an inch, letting a finger run down along his cheek and then the curve of his mouth. His eyes were open now, not as bright as they were but clear and calm.

Focused.

Fjord moved forward. No more was needed, which was fine, because even that seemed more courage than he could muster. Caleb took control and Fjord let him, stilling him and tilting his head in a way that should have sent pain shooting down his neck. He didn't notice. Each sensation stood out, the heavy air and the creaking sides and the thin, calloused fingers that lay along his jaw; everything here was so much and so close that it could have been the world. He'd seen time stopped, and even then it wasn't spread out as it was in the _now_ that was everywhere.

Caleb kissed him.

Then he pulled away.

It wasn't anything like he'd felt before. Just a touch. Nothing more. He'd heard that years ago, this was how they sealed a bargain.

"Do we understand each other?" breathed Caleb.

"We do."

There were some advantages to the darker colour Fjord had on his face, and one was that he couldn't turn the patched and poxy red that Caleb now was. The worst he got was swamp green, which Caleb would barely be able to make out in here.

"Then—we can talk about this later, but—you know that I am yours."

Fjord had to laugh. "I suppose I do."

"I am so sorry to break your boundaries when you have told me that you do not, uh, wish so, but I was afraid you thought that I—no, that it—that there was still a line between us not to cross, so—"

"Caleb."

Fjord silenced him with a hand across his mouth. That put such a start in him that he almost laughed again.

"I love you. Have for some time, in a lot of ways I don't understand myself. And now, I'm given to understand that it's all right by you. No matter how I love you."

Taking his hand away, Fjord leaned back in the hammock, letting his cloak fall back on top of him. He kept watching Caleb as he fell into a shaky smile.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, that is true. My own intentions toward you are…it is enough to say that I love you, too, however you may want me to, and otherwise, as well. I will until I die."

"All right. We can start from there. But," he teased, "Do you really want to be making those kinds of promises?"

"Fjord." Caleb sighed. "If I were not certain of refusal, I would ask you to marry me here."

Now, it was Fjord's turn to sit there staring like a fish, and oh, was he glad of how dark it was. His blush would show up in daylight, he was sure. The smug little smile creeping across Caleb's face told him that just maybe, it showed up in these lights too.

He opened his mouth, then shut it, then opened it again.

"Yes."

There wasn't any sort of sound from Caleb.

"The answer's yes."

"What?"

"Yes, I will marry you. On my terms. You know what that means."

Caleb's eyes widened again, slowly this time.

"I—"

"If you have any objections," he said, "Make it quick. I'm a half-dead man, so I need to sleep."

FJord made a show of settling back down in the hammock, turning over as he smiled to himself. His heart was light in his chest.

"Fine, you are welcome to it," he heard Caleb sigh. "I owe you a few late mornings."

"Mm."

He heard the creak of planking as Caleb got up, dusting himself off.

"I count three days before Beau recalls you to normal duty."

"That so."

"Perhaps I can make it two."

"Enjoy yourself out there, then."

"I will."

"Love you."

"I—yes, I love you also."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See next chapter for notes.
> 
> Edit: just to be totally 100% crystal clear, we’re still in qp territory. Some romo. But nothing so clear cut


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're overlong, we're late, and we had to finish it on our work laptop, but we're here! I'm so glad to have had you all along for the ride :D
> 
> I hope this can bring the kudzu story I ended up with to something of a close. Warnings in the (nothing major, just want to play it safe).

_In six days_ …

"Doesn't anyone have anything?" asked Maura. "Lina?"

"I already told you all my stories," said Olina. "And I don't want to sing."

"Well, I went yesterday," said Uri.

Before anyone could get started on an argument on who was going to fill in the fun and excitement Jester had set out to do each day, she stepped in. Beau hadn't even carried out the pot from the galley yet, and they were getting all testy and itchy. _This_ was why they needed to take a break and try something new in the first place!

"Is Fjord here?" she asked, knowing he'd gone to check the tiller before they broke for evening meal. "I think he missed his last turn, I'm sure he did."

The young man and women looked awkward, while Caleb seemed to have just tuned out of his conversation with Bharim and into the great debate of today.

"Uh, you’ll have to pardon me, I did not quite catch all of that," he said. "Fjord should be here in a short time, if that is your question."

“Good, good, that’s what I was wanting to know.”

A slow, soft and not-very-cold breeze flowed over the ship like a river of cream as Jester stretched. Today was a lot better than yesterday, and better than the storm. The route of the ship they were chasing was straight south, which meant that the weather was very slowly warming up and the sun was setting later.

"Would he really be up to it?" asked Bharim. "It's been enough time, sure, but that was no perfect healing I did."

"Bah, he is going to be fine," she insisted. "We brought him back a bunch of times before. Besides, I think he needs to test out his body. Stretch his vocal cords, maybe."

The footsteps coming up behind her weren't trying to be quiet at all. Right on time!

"Whose vocal cords are we stretching?" Fjord asked.

"Ah, Fjord! We are going to be singing tonight, since no one else has any stories," she said.

He slouched past her, taking up a seat by Caleb. They were never very far apart, since they came together again, and now they were not apart at all. She should talk to him soon.

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," he said. "Not that I mind, of course."

"Don't worry, I'll be singing too."

There was half a second where it looked like Fjord's eyes went to Caleb, but it was over so fast she couldn't be totally sure she didn't imagine it.

"I'm afraid I will have to stay a watcher tonight," said Caleb. "Sing just once, Fjord?"

Fjord sighed, but he didn't look unhappy. The children weren't talking among themselves any more, or at least very much. It was tiring at the end of the day.

"What were you thinking, Jes?" He used the nickname without thinking.

"Serpent's Way," she said. " _If_ you still remember it!"

She was standing on the deck, in front of the crew as was usual for any good performer, but Fjord stayed sitting. That was okay. If he didn't want to make sure he really used his voice, well, that wasn't her fault, now, was it?

"You start," he said.

Olina, she could tell, was getting bored. So Jester started. The song wasn't very hard and it wasn't very high, but it was always sung in harmony. Fjord would have to work for this one.

" _Still are the waveless_ _seas,_ " she sang, just a little bit sharp, she knew. " _Far are your arms from me._ "

" _Long will these doldrums be,_ " Fjord joined in, singing in unison. That was okay. Harmony was maybe harder after you died again.

" _Sailing the Serpent's Way_ …"

This time, he stepped down into the baritone part. He really did have a beautiful voice, even if he never learned to sing like she did. Her mom had taught her everything. That only meant that she knew how everything should be, for perfect singing, and she knew that she was good at it. She knew that she would not be better than good. Maybe Fjord could be.

It was darker outside, not black, the clouds sitting down on top of them like a blanket but not quite stretching down to the horizon. That meant that the world was banded on one side with a belt of salmon-pink sky, not really beautiful, more striking.

It also meant that it was light enough for her to see all their little crew.

Their song swelled and slowed with the sea. It was a good and loose one for the end of a long and tiresome day, which let Fjord hop in and out of the tune as he tested the limits of his volume and pitch.

To be really true, she could see Caleb. He faced sort of forward like everyone else, but his focus was fixed absolutely elsewhere. You could tell by how still he was. There were times where it seemed like Caleb's body was frozen in time while his mind worked to understand something he was reading, or a situation they had started and were trying to get out of, or apparently now, Fjord, who spent all his attention keeping time with her and didn't even notice the look.

Actually, it was sort of nice to be singing this song again. She just chose it because it was easy and fun, which meant it had been the song she liked when she was a little kid and the song she taught to a lot of the people she met. Also, it was sort of creepy, which just made it more fun.

Fjord came into his own by the end. There was a minute of trouble when she went for the second verse and he didn't look like he remembered, though by the third chorus they were all right.

The crew was just finishing their applause for them around the time Beau came out with the steaming pot, hiking up the cabin steps and nodding at Uri for something or other.

Jester bowed heartily as the stew was set down. "Who wants to do the next one with me? Maura and Prithi, you know some of the songs we were singing on the road, right?"

The girls scrambled up to join her as Uri came up from the galley with some extra supplies. Even then, it took Beau knocking Caleb on the arm to get him to unfreeze.

As she did, she glanced up at Jester, asking a question she didn't have to actually _say_.

She just shook her head sideways. Soon. She would talk with Fjord…soon.

Tonight. Before he slept.

…

 _In thirty-two days_ …

There were a few moments of quiet on the ship. It was a fine evening, with the sun already tucked down below the horizon and the sky a faint and fading gold. No one was going to make a noise first.

And then Jester cheered.

Beau stuck her fingers in her mouth and blew hard, sounding off a loud whistle as the rest of the crew joined in the round of applause.

"Nice work!" she shouted above it all.

Prithi, still breathing heavily, jumped down on to the for'ard deck from Bharim's shoulders and bowed with him. This long into their expedition, their nightly entertainments were getting better—the two of them had made a dance that even impressed her, performed on a swaying boat like this without either of them tripping. They must have been practicing during the days, since she never got wind of the girl doing anything other than real training.

"I'm not just a pretty face," said Bharim good-humouredly.

"You don't say?" she countered. "What were you doing, telling us stories when you had all of this stored up. Gods. Hey, Prithi, should I be wondering about your career path?"

The girl smirked. "What can I say, you were on the opposite shift. I had to find something fun to do, and Bharim here has a much better sense of rhythm, you know."

Jester slapped her on the shoulder, laughing as she groaned. "I'm really sorry Beau, but I think I'm going to have some trouble protecting you here."

"You don't have to rub it in."

She moved aside, leaving room for the two dancers to crowd in beside her at their makeshift table. It was good for them all to let off steam like this, with a story or a song and a dance, though the set-up on deck was new for this performance. She and Jes had woken up to find a few of their smaller barrels dragged out in a semi-circle on the deck and roped together, curved around the freshwater barrel and facing the bow. A stage, it turned out, for a dance that had a few more aerial acrobatics than they'd done before.

Bharim helped himself to a stick of dried seaweed from the bowl she handed his way. "You should join us next time. I'm sure I can come up with something better for three."

"Oh?" Jes was all of a sudden leaning over Beau, eyes bright. "You choreographed that all yourself? Are you secretly some artist who stowed away, huh?"

"Not so much," Bharim said with a shrug. "The footwork's all standard where I'm from, but anything off the ground was a little more…improvised."

"Well then, if you weren't getting paid for it before, you should be! I think Beau would love to do something like that, ya?"

"Maybe sometime," she admitted. "I, uh, don't really dance, though. Right, Caleb?"

Craning her neck, she tried to attract his attention from the other end of the table for support. No dice. He was locked in some kind of conversation with Fjord and all she managed was to catch a wink from Uri. Ah, shit.

"Come on," he called, "You're making the old guy do all the hard work."

"Thank you for your concern, Uri," Bharim called back.

"You're welcome!"

Beau elbowed her way past Jester and back into the conversation. "What I'm _saying_ , is, you can try and teach me, but that's not going to be easy. Your choice."

"You'll be fine," said Prithi. "All you need to do is count. I can help out."

Darn, she had to find a blunter answer for the kid that wasn't going to hurt her feelings. Prithi chattered to Bharim and the rest of the kids laughed on the other side of the table while she tried to kick her brain into motion. Seaweed and a hearty soup for breakfast was maybe good for the body, but she missed the pastries.

"What do you say, Beau?" she heard Jester ask excitedly. "Should I?"

"Sure," she said, trying to remember what it was that she was agreeing to.

"Okay! I'm sure I can get Caleb and Fjord to switch to nights for just a little while, so we can all practice together!"

Oh. It was the dancing, after all. But it had been Jester asking. It'd be nice to spend more time with the day crew, too. Beau took the empty cup that was passed over to her by somebody's hand and dunked it absent-mindedly in the water barrel.

"Way to play favourites," Prithi teased.

"I just figured you guys were going to keep asking," she lied. "You all right with this, Bharim?"

"I can't say I mind, no."

A shiver tracked suddenly up her spine as she felt something curl in the small of her back. Jester's hand. It just touched her through the outer coat. Somehow, she understood. She was thanking her, but…

"Well, if the crew's happy, the captain's happy. I'll see about the rotation schedule."

Prithi gave her a thumbs up, taking the steaming bowl that had finally made it up in Maura's hands from the galley. The other one was handed off to Bharim with a clap on the back and a wide grin.

The two of them tucked into their meals with a good amount of enthusiasm, but Beau had finished her meal already.

All she could do was pull her legs up underneath her in a seiza and sit tight, letting her mind clear before the real day began. It was dark enough now that they needed Caleb's lights hovering over just to see the table.

In her ear, she heard a quiet noise that barely carried over the conversation and the clatter.

"Thank you," said Jester.

…

 _In forty-one days_ …

"All right! You may go."

Caleb hopped well back of Fjord, though he really didn't have to. If there could be an expert on backfiring, malfunctioning, gone-rotten spells, it would certainly have to be him. All in all, he'd never had anything actually detonate, and even then, he was stood on top of a makeshift dais of barrels and rope. He couldn't damage the ship even if he hit it on purpose. That was another reason they’d agreed to take the night shift over from Beau and Jester; in case something did go wrong in training, no one would be up here to get hit.

Bringing his hands up in front of him, he tried out the first spell he'd learned. It was one he'd practiced to no end, just without the component that would transform a quick flip of the hand into a dent in reality.

He moved just as he'd seen Caleb do, loosening his wrists as much as he could without losing the pattern. Once the spell was shaped, he tapped his fingers to the tuft of sheep's wool poking out of his component belt, watching a part of it frizzle and fray. Above his other hand, held open and outstretched, a clay pot slowly shimmered into being. The shadow it cast over his hand was wrong. It didn't move or stretch as Caleb's lights circled around it, and it didn't fall past his hand, either.

"How's it from over there?" he asked.

"Yes, that does look real. We can move forward from here," said Caleb, waving him on. “Illusions should not present a problem for you, I think.”

They’d set up an open dish of water for the next spell, which Fjord aimed for with his stance. This one required words as well, which he timed on the offbeats of his gestures. Sign, word, sign, word, sign, word. It helped him keep the order straight, makings sure the spell didn't fade. He repeated the syllables exactly as he'd heard them; Caleb's accent wasn't so different from his own, but he wasn't about to take chances.

And—there. He fired off the spell after a few more seconds than he should have taken, freezing a sheet of ice over the water in the bowl and sending it tipping to one side, then the other, rocking slowly to a halt. Caleb was watching this one more closely, fingers scratching at his uneven beard.

"Okay, that one wasn't great," he said lamely. "Too slow?"

"Hm, no, no, I don't think the timing should have affected the strength, though ideally it should be somewhat quicker." Caleb headed towards the bowl, focused completely. "The physical component, would you repeat it?"

"Sure."

That was easy enough to do, even with the staring. Fjord tried slowing it down on purpose this time, to show the steps more clearly.

"Ah," said Caleb suddenly. "You know, it should be somewhat… _more_. That is, uh—"

Something popped up in Fjord’s head. "Like this?" he asked.

He tried again. This third repetition used Caleb's nervous, jerky style of casting, keeping his wrists locked as he stabbed into the air and cut it into the different quadrants of the spell.

Funny. As he did it, the stiffness seemed to help the speed. Each of the movements had more corners than curves, making it easy to slice through once you'd given up on any nuance.

Once he'd finished, he glanced up. Caleb's eyes stayed focused on his hands, but now they’d lit up with excitement.

"Yes, _yes_!" breathed Caleb. "That is—you knew that already, then? You have learned this spell somewhere before."

"Can't say I have," he answered honestly. "Besides, didn't you say the casting would be different, from a divine source to an arcane one?"

Caleb just rolled his eyes at him. Hopping off of the platform, Fjord grabbed the bowl up from the ground and broke the ice on top of it so they could try again.

"Well—yes, that is so. Still, you seem to know," Caleb waved his hands vaguely. "Uh, exactly what was required, without very much of an explanation. And this is not the first time you have repeated a spell like that."

He laughed. "I'm not sure if you've noticed, but I spent a good few years of my life studying magic. Wizard magic. One wizard's magic, at least. I like to think I picked something up.”

While Caleb was puzzling over that—the man had a one-track mind when he was paying attention—he stepped back up, readying himself for the next round.

"Vandren could not have been an arcane mage, could he?" asked Caleb after a few moments. “I had always thought he used borrowed power.”

Fjord shook his head. Around them both, in the strong night breeze, the four lights winked out and were cast again, clustering around his waist.

"It was you, remember? When everything first started happening, I thought—you know, whatever my magic was, you seemed to know the most about it. So, hah, I sort of tried to pay attention."

“But—”

"I know, I know. That was before I knew ours weren't the same kind of magic, but I was well into the habit by the time I realized it. So,” he said awkwardly, “Are we ready for the next one, or do you want to try Frostbite again?"

Caleb blinked owlishly. You could see the lurch as his train of thought was dragged from one rutted cart track to the next.

"I, uh, am sure that another round will not hurt. You are free to go. Um."

This time, he noticed, Caleb didn't stand back.

…

 _In fifty-eight days_ …

"Caleb, don't you think—"

"Left," he hissed, taking Fjord by the hand.

He dragged the two of them around the corner, heedless of the noise they made as their boots skidded on wet flagstones. At best, he would be cleaning mud and gravel from them, but they both knew well that it might be blood slicking each surface they seemed to touch, or worse. The smell of this place was soft and rotting, with a sour tang over all of it that made Caleb fear the floor might still be wet with something else. As it was, the tears that spilled from his right eye did nothing to help with the mess or the pain.

"We can't stay here," said Fjord. "Your eye…"

Behind them, heavier footsteps than theirs advanced. They had some seconds before the guards here reached the previous corner, where they would turn and see Caleb's lights clearly in the darkness. He would have to choose another path—they could not both retrace their footsteps and stay ahead of the pursuing force—but which of these doors would be open? Which would have a hall behind it, and not a cell?

The faintest chill beside him gave him his answer.

"Left again," he said, "Trust me."

"Caleb—"

He pulled Fjord with him right into—and through—the door in spite of his pause.

"Illusion magic," he explained. "And, yes, I agree, it is paramount that we escape."

"Good. I'm glad we're on the same page."

Their strides lengthened as Caleb's lights revealed a longer corridor, cooler than the last and strewn with puddles of what could be water. Their boots splashed in and out of them as they ran.

"Only, it is not so simple as that."

"Then tell me what's happening here. I've seen curses like that before. If we don't heal you soon, you might lose that eye."

Noting the new silence around them, Caleb tried a door at random, nothing a click as the handle jarred the locking mechanism. Damn. Without slowing down, he aimed for the next one along the corridor that looked likely to be opened.

"Fjord, you're not our only magician.” The door’s handle rattled as he turned it. “As I'm sure you have noted, these are, ah, no ordinary mages. Oh, for fuck's sake."

He left the door behind and ran faster now down the corridor.

"What did they do?" Fjord's voice was grim now.

The last few minutes had left no room to spare for explanations; from the first frozen shock of terror as they tripped a high-power sigil to the volley of curses and then their desperate flight. Fjord, he knew, had been hit with a burning brand that had not slowed him but made his voice tight and rough and then a poisoned sting that would sap his strength until they escaped and _he_ —

"The injury to my eye appears to be cursed with abjuration magic. It will not permit me to cast magic until it is removed."

"Okay. I can ask the Mother for help. She might not answer."

Still holding on to Fjord's hand, he stopped them at one last door. They did not have long until their pursuers found them. This one, at last, opened, and he pulled them both inside into whatever space this was. His lights showed him broomsticks, metal and small devices he felt sick to recognize.

"I know."

Their breath filled the space as they faced one another, with room to do little else.

"I don't like where this is going," said Fjord fervently.

"If you remove my eye then the curse, I think, will leave with it.” He swallowed hard. “My right eye. So, if you please, I would have you take it out."

They looked at one another for one long moment as footsteps sounded in the hall outside. Caleb extinguished his lights with a shake of his hands and plunged them into darkness.

"Can you numb the pain?" Fjord asked.

"I did when I was struck. Otherwise, uh, I do not think I would have made it this far. It was…an experience I think I won't forget. The cut will be no more than what is already caused."

"So you're ready."

"Yes."

He heard the subtle sounds of Fjord pulling out his knife from beneath his coat, hopefully one without too dull of a blade, but he should be so lucky. In preparation for what still would be near-unbearable pain, he took an empty leather pouch from his pocket and stuck the gathered top of it between his teeth.

Fjord's hand slid up his cheek, locking his head in place against the door.

"I'll make this quick," he said.

When the blade cut in, all Caleb's memory stopped, and he screamed.

…

 _In sixty days_ …

"Caleb?"

Fjord pushed aside the flap of Jester's tent, looking for her patient. She'd said Caleb was recovering well, but he still wasn't up to joining in on their operation. If he wasn't here, lying on the second bedroll crammed in here among the bags and pouches of who-knew-what, he couldn't have wandered too far.

Standing back up, he scanned the half-dozen gathered tents. Maybe he'd gone by the creek. There wasn't much to do around here, which had to be getting to him. Maybe, if Jes gave the okay, they could keep going with the magic lessons. That should distract him.

"Caleb," he called, and cast around at the stands of evergreen bushes and bare trees for some sign of him. He could still hear the noise from the others at the fire, half of them muttering over breakfast and the others starting their morning training.

Their disastrous try at reconnaissance had put a stop to the attack plans for now. Whoever it was could clearly afford a master mage, at the level of the old Assembly. Maybe someone deep in pocket with a god or a monster, but unlikely. Employers wanted to know who their hired guns worked for, and anyone drawing that much power from an external source had to know where their loyalties lay. It had to be a wizard.

After a few minutes, he reached the creek they used for freshwater. No sign of him. Worry was starting to stir in his stomach, though not much of it. Caleb could handle himself. He just might not be taking this well.

The thing was that their attack force was stuck waiting at their rendez-vous. He, Caleb, Jester, Beau, Bharim, and Calianna and her friend were here, along with the kids. Essek, bless him, had gathered a few of his own around him, and Caduceus was hosting Bryce, Nott, and a few others who'd been in the area. Yasha and Reani were still travelling to one of the teleport centres. Until they had a firm idea of what their opponent looked like, though, it was stupid to risk everyone in an all-out fight. The Cobalt Soul were marshalled to help, from what Beau told them, but they were trying to work through more official channels.

When it came time to break down this slaver's door, they only had room for a crack team. There was still some debate on whether it was worth taking Bharim along with them. Sure, with the Mother's influence waning, they might need another reliable mage. But he wasn't as experienced in combat as the rest of them, and worst came to worst…

Frankly, they'd need someone to bail them out.

Fjord circled the camp again, from creek to firewood copse and around again.

If Caleb was uneasy, he couldn't blame him. Melora still answered him when he asked, but he had never been a true mage, and sometimes the help they needed wasn't what she could give to him. He'd chosen a different path a long time ago, and now, he could feel their connection fading. There was no doubt in his mind that it would falter once this mission finished. The Mother would absolve him of the life he chose, well and truly. It might be that she released him sooner than that.

What he would regret, it was hard to say. The thought of fighting on the boundary for the rest of his life had made him sick, sad, and tired, and that wasn’t even getting into the guilt of feeling that way. Still. The Wildmother was the one thing he’d had this whole time, and now she might be gone. No. He’d left her.

He’d find out, of course. He always came to recognize the things he lost. Maybe there would be a choice between protecting what he loved and keeping them close.

Finally, he made his way back to his tent. As he crawled inside, he found Caleb lying there as well, curled up on his side with a closed book held loosely in one hand. Both his eyes were shut as well.

"Fjord?"

"I was just out looking for you. Thought you might still be convalescing."

"Ah, well, you see," Caleb mumbled, "Jester said it would not make much difference whether I am lying here or there, so I moved myself over."

"Needed your books?"

"Mm, though much good they have done me. It is painful to read with just the one eye."

Caleb showed no signs of getting up, so Fjord lay down on his own bedroll, beside him, folding his hands under his head and studying the ceiling of their tent.

"It's healing up all right, though?"

"Yes. If I do not use it, my vision should return within three or four days, or so I'm told."

Relief flowed over Fjord. He'd been sure Jessie could do it, of course, it just…was good to hear him say it. He'd screamed something fierce when Fjord cut into him.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Thank you," answered Caleb. "Although, I am not so sure what you are sorry for."

"That it happened, I suppose."

"The important thing is we are out of there and we are also alive."

Rolling on to his side, Fjord found Caleb's good eye half-open and watching him.

"That is true," he said.

"Are you going to train this morning? You should keep up your strength," teased Caleb.

He mulled it over.

"I plan to. A half-hour won't make so much of a difference, though."

"Mm, so I thought. I have been instructed to take my bed rest today as well."

"Probably best to keep the medic's advice, then," Fjord agreed.

Pushing his book to the back of the tent, Caleb pulled a blanket over himself and curled up, closing his eyes.

Half an hour wouldn't hurt.

Fjord reached his arms out and pulled him closer.

…

 _In eighty-five days_ …

Caleb approached quietly, trying as best he was able to not step on any twigs or step into Fjord's line of sight. There was no consequence if he did, but he was unable to bring himself to blunder in here.

Fjord had taken himself to the edge of the copse. He stood like a fighter or a seaman, legs spread more than hip-width and shins angled to provide a brace against the still ground at his feet. The long, dead grass reached up nearly to his knees between patches of snow.

From the cover of the spruces' long, sweeping skirts, Caleb watched him.

He moved in stages. With a steady sort of rhythm, he would move his hands in strict shapes and speak aloud. They were the spells Caleb had taught him. Between each, he would take a step, landing in another steady stance. Spell, step, spell, step. It was not all what Caleb had taught him, which itself was not all of what Caleb had been taught. Caleb only learned recently that what he did here was arcane practice, not the physical training that was his way for years. It asked a question of Fjord, why he would throw himself so much into this when across weeks on the ship he learned only cantrips.

The grass hissed and shivered as the kata continued. These spells weren't strung together randomly; each combination had its own code, he could see. That was his own invention. Someone of his experience could choose spells at random fast enough to fire them off in any order, but in those earliest days he was taught to separate them out as arrows in a quiver. First in many of the sequences was the summoning for Mages' Armour. For that, Fjord placed his hand on the tie of his cloak and mimed the spell.

Though he practiced the motions and the words, he made sure to blunt or skip syllables, or set one sign in reverse to create something that was not enough to tap into the veins of ancient magic running through the world. When he stepped to the right (to make an outright attack) or left (to cast a more subtle spell) from that first point, no stalks were withered with frost and no glow of health grew up around him; it was only an imitation of the magic.

The memories Caleb had of school placed him in a line with all the others, stood in front of a row of targets and waiting for the call of the professor to bend from their stiff and straight-legged stances. From the first shout would precipitate a round of sound and motion as all students cast at once, then returned to attention, leaving the worn assistants to check the state of each target. They drilled spells like bowmen. When the test was finished and those unsatisfactory students were removed, the line would split and fall back behind the next line of students, and so on.

There was some structure to Fjord's method that resembled that, the rote repetition of each spell, but where Caleb's teachers took from soldiers, he took from Beau. The form of each spell flowed smoothly into the next one as his body pivoted, turning where he would need to survey the battlefield and moving forward where the next spell had a narrower range. Move flowed into move as sword strikes on a battlefield, each ending flourish somehow angled into the next signed sigil.

He should have only just started on the truly powerful spells; enough to defend himself from magic. In truth, it was clear that he no longer needed Caleb. His long years of experience had been more full of study than Caleb even noticed. The spell-books they shared would be enough to move him forward.

With wonder, he watched as Fjord raised his speed, no longer pausing between each step but dancing between each spell, reaching out in each direction with a different school of magic until eventually he came full circle, hands held defensively and primed to counter any attack. It looked as light as Beau's steps, but the clouds of breath that formed around his head showed heavy breathing.

After a moment, Caleb watched him rise to standing, knees no longer bent.

"I didn't notice you there, Cay," he called without looking.

"How do you mean?" Caleb asked in return.

He stepped over the low branches, tugging his coat where it caught on the needles, and made his way through the tall grass to Fjord's side.

"Well, just wanted you to know that I didn't choose to ignore you."

When he got there, he angled his head, trying to see what Fjord was watching in the distance.

"Actually, it was very much my intention to, ah, be unnoticed, so we are all good here."

"How were my marks?" Fjord asked, wryly, yet there was a tremor in his voice.

There was nothing that should have his attention in that faraway landscape, as far as Caleb could see. The grass stretched away into the lowest of hills, dotted here and there with spruce and skinny aspens like the country of his home.

"I don't know," said Caleb honestly. "It seemed…beautiful. It is your own magic. I doubt I will be needing to asses you, here on. All you need is in the spell-books."

Fjord said nothing for a time. Spring thaw came later to this place; the wind, soft as it was, still bit.

"Not all of us are like you," he said finally, unsure. "I know we're pressed for time, but—there's so much left that you know that I don't. That's not in the books."

His arms crossed themselves as Caleb took out his prepared defense, since they were none of them all cured of old habits. Fjord, often, did not see himself as he should. He also had a habit of putting him on a pedestal, as much as was possible after seeing all he did of Caleb.

"It does not make me a good teacher, though," countered Caleb. “And you have learned so—you already know what magic is in a way that many students never do. Even just now, I can see that you learned far beyond what I have taught you. You will become more, without my intervention."

There was a strange, breathy noise that puzzled him. Fjord had laughed, and, looking to him, smiled awkwardly.

"Sorry, I think I didn't say what I mean. I'm sure I could study just as well as I'm learning now. The books aren't _you_ , Cay. I like learning from you. If you're willing, I want to keep going."

It dawned on Caleb that he, too, never fully rid himself of some instincts. To put words in other people's mouths and thoughts in their heads.

"I…see," he said at length. "Of course I am willing, I am a teacher, uh, among many other things, but that is one that I have chosen."

"Thank you."

"And it is also good for me, to teach you. I still have many years to make up for," he admitted.

"Hm?"

Fjord tilted his head back up, focusing again on the horizon while Caleb tucked his hands inside his sleeves.

"I mean that you had asked me to teach you something of the arcane when we met, remember?"

"Oh, that," said Fjord. "It wouldn't have helped me, I don't think."

"Still. I, ah, was more doubtful of you than would have helped me."

"Mm."

Again, Fjord seemed to be somewhere else that was not here, thinking of something.

Caleb nudged at him with an elbow. "What is it?"

"I'm not sure I'm ready, yet,” said Fjord distantly, “But you do know how to make your own spell, yeah?"

"I do. I can teach it to you, though it does take time," he said.

"We've got time.”

Freeing one of his arms again, Caleb threaded it beneath Fjord's arm and clasped his hand as best as he was able with heavy woolen gloves.

"If we are done here, then we can start on our return."

Fjord still thought a moment longer before he tore himself away from the dreamlike stare.

"Yeah. Do you ever think about what we should be doing, at this age?" he asked, quiet against the air.

The two of them walked back toward camp, pulling their boots free of tangled grass.

"You forget,” Caleb said lightly, “That was what sent me on this journey. But I think I have done well for myself."

"Could be,” said Fjord. “I just can't help thinking that I'm more than half there. I asked Caduceus since, well, he'd know. Orcs don't live long. I've got maybe thirty years before I die."

"I know."

Caleb did.

"Aren't you supposed to comfort me?" asked Fjord, but there was at least a hint of humour there.

"I will," he promised. "Three decades is a very long time."

"Doesn't always seem that way."

Fjord slipped first beneath the forest again, then Caleb, ducking around the branches that Fjord had brushed aside. Twigs and needles cracked beneath their feet.

"You were near that age when I met you," Caleb intoned. "And you had already been a worker and a sailor, and a mage. It has only been ten years since the end of the war, and I have been a diplomat and a teacher."

"Sure."

"Three more times the years we have known each other, is what is left for us. You—I am certain you have lived your life to the fullest. Maybe you were tired, but I can remember what you shared about your time travelling. I do not think I could have dragged you from it."

They passed by a small group of hares curled at the base of a tree, still patched with white. Despite all the noise, they failed to flee. He felt Fjord's hand tighten around his own as they returned along the path they had taken.

"It's true that I did want to spend my life out there," said Fjord. "Here, I mean. A while ago. I must have changed."

"It is…I am sure we will have enough time before we die to be sick of each other and sick of magic or power."

"Okay." Fjord paused. "Though, if you really do get sick of me, be sure to tell me. I believe I've learned my lesson."

He scoffed. "You will excuse me, but were you not the one who grew tired of Jester?"

Then, Caleb felt himself freeze up. Perhaps it was still not time enough after…whatever it was to talk about it, though Fjord and Jester were laughing and singing together as if they had never fought. They ducked beneath a dead trunk, uprooted at an angle by wind.

At the very least, Fjord seemed not to notice, humming thoughtfully. "I'm not sure. Remember, she was the one who left me alone."

"I know. I am sorry, Fjord. That was thoughtless."

"No, no. You have a point. I should have been more honest with myself and her, and, well, you as well, and you probably should have been more honest with me. We've learned. That was what I wanted to say. I said I'd marry you. I haven't changed my mind."

They carried on, hand-in-hand, as Caleb contemplated how deeply meaning hid in words.

"Caleb?" asked Fjord gently. "You still there?"

"Ah, uh, yes."

"Something on your mind?"

He coughed. "Nothing of note. Actually, uh, I was just remembering how I asked to be with you." That likely needed elaboration. "It was not terribly romantic. We were both fatigued, and I remember my hair was full of salt. It was extremely itchy. I, uh, could always do it properly, some time?"

Fjord smiled down at him. "And how would that go?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said, "Something, something, would you make me the most honoured wizard in the Empire, however you wish."

Fjord laughed first, and then he found he could not help but laugh also, softly at first and choked, which then made Fjord laugh harder, until they were both so wracked with it that they let go of each other just to hold themselves upright.

"I don't—" Fjord stopped himself to take a breath. "Caleb, please don't take this the wrong way, but I don't think you'll be any better the second time."

"You are cold sometimes, Fjord," he said. "But, I suppose, I don't have any sort of a choice, here."

Leaning over, Fjord pressed a kiss to his forehead.

"Neither do I."

…

 _In two hundred and thirteen days_ …

"Expositor Beauregard, you are asked to step forward."

With the half a second she had to think, Beau straightened the belt of her uniform. The kids might whisper about her in the hallways, but it couldn't hurt to be careful with the Masters. Today of all days.

As the nearby acolyte—a junior bureaucrat just out of his teens, it looked like—waved her forward, she stepped out on to the hardwood floor of the chamber. Eight of the Masters sat in a half-circle facing her, calm and composed.

"Beauregard."

Master Hadiza, today's spokeswoman nodded to her. She bowed in return, staying quiet until the process began.

"You may be seated."

Beau did so, folding her legs under her and placing her hands on her thighs. Her robe wrinkled a bit and didn't quite spread out across the floor as it was supposed to, but now wasn't the time to fix it.

"The Masters in session have heard your application for an affiliate, provided along with all information collected by the Searchers for Truth on your co-applicant. Bearing this in mind, we ask that you answer our questions honestly and in detail. Is this acceptable to you?"

Master Hazida pushed forward a sheet of paper. Anyone facing a hearing was given the option to answer in writing or by dictation, even though it was just a formality at this point. Beau had requested a verbal hearing.

"I'll answer to the best of my knowledge," she affirmed.

The Masters nodded again as she bowed, touching her forehead to the floor before straightening up.

"Who is Jester Lavorre?"

"Ms. Lavorre is someone I have trusted for ten years, give or take. Whatever decisions she's made, she's pretty much incorruptible by anyone who's tried. Even so, what she does do is believe people. She's got drive, and that can sometimes take her too far."

These kinds of things weren't actually interrogations. At least, like Master Hazida said, they pretty much knew as much as there was to know already in official records or unofficial accounts. What she was supposed to tell them now was something no other person would say, at least, to them.

"How will she interfere in your work?"

"She'll be a distraction. I need to keep an eye on authority. I can act to keep the peace between people only so long as that doesn't take my eye off of power. She helps people by giving them what they need. My work is to help people by taking away the harm. We each have our roles to play. The best way to help her with her work should be to concentrate on my own. If I start doing her work, I fail in my duties."

Maybe she spotted a smile on the face of Master Benjamin, maybe she didn't.

"How long will this association last?"

"I'm planning to be connected with Ms. Lavorre until my retirement. We started working together before I was officially appointed an Expositor. We've kept in contact since. What that also means is that I'll be retiring if it comes down to a choice between the Cobalt Soul or my continued association with Ms. Lavorre."

Beau didn't take her eyes off of Master Hadiza. That didn't mean she didn't feel everyone else's confusion. At this level, the Masters of the Order could pretty much tell someone's honesty from fifty paces. They knew she wasn't lying. It didn't have to come to that, obviously, but she would be that they never expected their star agent to stake her career on a routine affiliate application.

"Why are you requesting this affiliation?"

She had learned perfect control in the years she'd worked for the Order. It was important to keep a straight face in an audience like this. That was why she wasn't smiling.

"I think I owe it to you guys to try."

…

 _In two hundred and twenty days_ …

"Is it holding steady?" Fjord asked, keeping his back braced against the beam as the carpenter checked the joint.

"Looks to be. Ease off a little?"

He complied, leaning slightly forward on his toes. There was a creak as the weight of the new barn roof travelled down through the rafters to the one final junction, though Fjord didn't feel the weight grow any heavier.

"Feels solid," he said.

The carpenter nodded in satisfaction, walking a quick turn of the hayloft to see if any other beams were taking undue strain. Once she'd cleared the rest, she waved Fjord over. There was more noise as the barn settled, though nothing loud enough to send him running back to support it.

"All right, we're done this job. I'll tell old Andrew to keep an eye on it for a few days, but it's safe to me."

"Fine work," he agreed. "Is there any more left to do, before the day is done?"

"Not for you," she said, "'Tis getting near sunset and I've yet to pack up my tools. You're free to return, and thank you for your help."

She knelt to gather spanner, level, and more from the hayloft floor and replace them in her leather sack.

"If it's all right by you,” he said, “I might have some company on the way back. A rough walking track is no place for an old man these days."

The carpenter laughed at that. "You're barely in middle age, granddad. But all right, if only because I don't have anything else to do."

Neither of them were talkative by nature, so it was some ways along the small dirt path that led out to the edge of the forest that they started to talk. Sunset was only just on them, but the height of the trees meant they were in shadow mostly, seeing by the light reflected off the pale field.

"Do you know of any other undertakings here that might need help?" Fjord asked.

"None so large as a collapsed roof," the carpenter answered, "But there's no shortage of work on farms before the frost."

"Understood. My partner's set to finish his class tomorrow, so we were thinking of moving on."

"Ah, that so? Well, my luck to you."

They turned and skirted the edge of the field, just inside the low stone wall. Fjord had to shield his eyes from the sun with one hand; it was behind them, now, but shards of it reflected back at them from a shallow slough.

This time, the carpenter spoke first.

"If I may ask, why move about like this? You're skilled enough for trade in a city, and I've heard tell the teacher there was once retained at Soltryce. You're not old, but you're getting old to be working for scraps."

"It's not so bad, in truth,” he answered. “I'm a traveller by nature, so I have friends to stay with. There’s not much need for money, with our savings. We just like to see as much of the world as we can."

"I see."

A comfortable silence sat between the two of them as they returned to the village, the carpenter stopping at her shop and Fjord going on to the other side, where Caleb's teaching tent was pitched. They could afford the inn, but in a place this small it wouldn’t be luxurious. Caleb had invested in a better travelling pack along the way, anyway, which was as good as any bed.

The sky was dark above and fading to pale yellow as Fjord ducked under the entrance flap, finding Caleb at his kneeling desk writing a few notes on multiplying paper, something to leave with the students here. His lights were here, of course, clustered around the paper. Fjord cast some of his own to brighten up the room and sat across from him.

"Ah, Fjord, you are earlier than expected."

"Or are you later?" he asked. "How was class?"

"Fine, very fine. We were able to do some practical mathematics and more dictation than I had expected. Hopefully these ones will retain some of it next week. And the barn?"

Caleb was still looking at the paper, intently watching his own quill scratch across it.

"Looks like it's holding. I should be free to leave whenever you are."

"Mm, very well. On the day after tomorrow, then?"

"Sure."

Underlining one final phrase, Caleb set aside the notes and got up, following Fjord outside the tent without so much as a word. They took a moment for him to unspool his thread around their tent and cart before heading off, out of town and towards one of the farmers' fields.

"Have you given it more thought, how to work your spell? I'm sorry I can't be of more use, but if we are to construct it, I would rather have a firm idea of it first before we have to backtrack,” said Caleb casually. “From what you told me, there should be a divination component and a conjuration component. Perhaps we should choose one to work on first?"

"Actually, I was thinking about that. I'm not certain, though, which one to take. How do you think it would affect the spell?"

They veered off the main road and into a fallow field, stepping through the dirt and stalks.

"It depends on what you truly want your spell to do. Is it a map, or is it a teleportation circle?"

"I want to be able to see the world, so, a map. In detail, though. It has to be real—like an illusion."

"Real, like an illusion?" Caleb teased.

They finally came to the spot they had been using for practice.

"You know what I mean. The mansion spell. That level of detail. If we can get some material from a few set points, then we should be able to triangulate to places we’ve never been, right?"

"Yes, but that does mean you will have to work on it for months, if not years.”

Caleb took out his books from beneath his coat and Fjord did the same with his smaller, slimmer spellbook. He'd been building it carefully over the past few months, and it now was getting to the point where Caleb's had been years ago. Not the same spells, but…enough.

"I know,” he said. “Actually, I've been trying to pick up parts of where we've been. It should help when I'm finally able to start crafting it."

"That day may be sooner than we think."

The movement from Caleb slowed, and he could tell he was waiting for him to start.

He did. No real need to spell it out. Caleb would pick up on what he wanted to work on.

Starting with illusions, he tried through one of the more complete spells he was working on. The field transformed into a rocky gulch, patched here and there with long, dry grass and covered over with lichens.

"Weren't we finished with this one?" Even if he sounded doubtful, Caleb still bent over the scene, squinting at the grain of the rock. "Hm. Ah. I don't believe this is one of the standard sets."

He was grinning when he stood back up. "Are you striking out on your own, now?"

Fjord shrugged, trying to keep his own smile down. "I'm still not sure how I'll go about making a spell from scratch. Thought I'd start small, see where it led."

"I should be used to being surprised by you at this point, I think."

Caleb gave him a surprisingly clean wink, then ducked down again to put the illusion through its paces. Thank gods for that. Fjord didn't really know what to do with himself but pull out the next spell, another one with some customization.

They cycled through more illusions for another couple of hours. He'd only had the chance to work on a few modifications, with the change from basalt rock to sandstone as the only real successful one. Caleb seemed delighted, though; he'd held off on showing him this long out of sheer embarrassment, and it turned out there was no need.

He could get used to this. He _should_ be used to this. Hiding things hadn't been a necessity for years and—now of all times—was almost a joke. Old habits die hard. But at least he kept it to the harmless things, now. Homegrown spells. New recipes. He was learning, even now, to master himself and stop the fear that followed him all his life.

They headed back well after they should have, lights extinguished to let them watch the stars. There was a near miss where he tripped over his own feet and Caleb himself just about fell over laughing, but in the end he managed a shoulder roll.

At least he didn't wear his armour anymore.

…

 _In one year and two hundred and six days_ …

"Darn. Where's the—" Caduceus waved at the air, pacing back and forth in a way that was a little concerning, with him holding a knife and all. "Oh, you know. The—"

"Bread's out of the oven and resting under the tablecloth, just over there," Fjord called, passing by as he rushed from one station to the next. As he did, he took the knife from Caduceus' hand and replaced it with a long, wooden spoon. "Check the pancit, would you? I'm not so sure on the flavourings myself. Colton’s just come back off of break, so I’m off to my station. Come on, Deuce, look sharp."

Leaving Caduceus in the dust, he kept walking along one of the long tables set aside for the kitchen. With everyone coming, there had been some question about where to host. For space, they were down to either Kamordah and Felderwin. Beau had made the obvious choice. Nott was happy to offer up their home to any of the Nein who could fit. In the weeks prior, while everyone made the trip, the few early birds had started to set up on the town’s festival grounds. Caduceus had supervised as they carefully took up the sod, digging out deep firepits along one side that would be used for the cooking. Nott had been handy in getting the furniture together, marshalling a few chairs and tables of her own and negotiating with the shopowners nearby to see who could spare more.

As he walked, he waved a few greetings to the other kitchen aides who glanced up. "Looking good, there—good morning to you too, thank you."

Just on this side of things, there were at least a dozen of them here. Caduceus, of course, oversaw the whole thing, and then there were his siblings and a few others of the ones who travelled south with him, then the local hires from shops and farms, a few of Jester's friends that she'd kept touch with, Uri, and one of his friends. That was just in the kitchen. There were twice that number out making decorations or sorting out table plans or whatever it was people did for a wedding. Fjord was just happy that he knew his way around a sharp blade.

Finally, he reached his station, where he'd been cleaning out fish with a long, thin knife. Lucky thing, that Caleb had made a circle when he lived here. They'd had the fresh stock in just this morning, hauled through Yussa's tower by Jester and her dad. It was kind of zen amid the smoke, fire, and spices that took up the rest of the kitchen. All he had to do was shoot a few frost spells over at the ice-filled pit now and again, taking whole fish from the barrels and putting down bowls of fillets or strips to be thrown in any of the bowls of soups, stews, or sauces that simmered over coals.

Thank gods for magic. Over and above the actual ceremony, they'd agreed to use the occasion for an unofficial reunion, of sorts. They'd all been brought together in one place for the fight, earlier, but with the long and drawn-out aftermath, it didn't feel like they'd had the time to really enjoy it. Deuce especially had chipped in for intel and advice, but he'd been needed as a medic and Fjord was needed in the field, so they hadn't had much of a chance to catch up on the small things in life. Never mind that they always had a…a certain idea of the key parts of their lives. Funny, how parting ways with Melora hadn't affected whatever bond that was with Caduceus.

Anyway, he considered, there were to be a hundred-some people here, more than. Caleb had been working on something to try and fit everyone on the day of, some variant on his mansion that would stay within this plane and give a view of the fields and sky. With how bright the sky was and how big, with the fields stretching flat around in all directions, they couldn't just cover it up.

Out of the side of his eye, he spotted one of the village kids coming over, dusting hands over his apron.

"I'm told to get some snapper, Master Fjord?"

The kid looked harried, so he gave him a grin as he gestured over the ice pit. "Sure. Third bowl from the top on the left side—yes, that one there."

"Thank you!" The kid scuttled around the edge, reaching down in for the bowl and bracing himself against the weight.

"Don't fall in there," Fjord warned.

"No, sir!"

He did eventually manage to lift it out, even with the awkward angle, and nodded breathlessly at him before running back to whoever had him as an assistant. Fjord turned back to his work, enjoying the warmth of the sun as it started to peak.

Surprisingly, Caduceus came wandering over not long after, hands empty of any kind of implement. Poor guy. There weren't any expectations on him, particularly, and Jester specifically told him not to worry, but it was cooking. You couldn’t make him stop caring.

"Are you tired at all?" he asked, throwing his handful of fish guts into the slop bucket with a little more care. "I think it's past your break time, if you're looking to take one."

Caduceus blinked at him, then shook his head with a sigh. "No, I'm perfectly all right."

Though he kept on at his work and kept an eye on the knife, Fjord shifted his attention over to Caduceus as he leaned up against the table next to him, where the dirty dishes were stacked.

"You know, I thought it was the brides who were supposed to get cold feet, not the caterer," he teased.

"Excuse me, I’m sure you could be reassigned to dishwashing," Caduceus answered with a flick of his ear.

"All right, all right. Do you want to tell me about it, or do you just want some peace and quiet?"

He waited patiently for Caduceus to decide. It was odd, to be the one listening this time. Whatever doubts or stirrings Caduceus had, even when Fjord had reached out to him, he still tended to think on them himself.

"You guys are all grown up now," he said after a minute.

Fjord nodded, scraping scales off of a small salmon.

"I know I tried to visit, and Beau and Yasha always come by, but…I suppose it seemed like you’d all be young forever. I just remember you guys as, you know, unsure, and wavering, and hypocritical, and immature, directionless, easily upset…" Caduceus trailed off.

"Hey, we're not all that old,” Fjord said. “Jester's only just now the same age I was."

"Oh, I know. She'll live a long time. I just never thought any of you would, you know, find it. What you wanted. You were just starting to look again, but now, well, from what she tells me, you've all had some time to think about life. I have, too, I suppose. Maybe I'm the one who's getting old."

Caduceus fidgeted, combing his hands through the tail of his braid and looking somewhere off in the middle distance.

"Old? You? We all know you’re the life of the party."

"Quiet, you."

Obliging, Fjord let him figure it out. In the meantime, he handed off a bowl of heads Uri, who’d come by to take them for stock, and started work on a crate of shrimp.

"It feels like I've let some time pass me by. I've been…content. But you don't have a lot of time left, do you?"

Softly spoken as it was, Fjord felt the world come to a halt.

Caleb was right. He kept telling him he had almost half his life left. There was no telling how much he could fit into the next years and, even, how much he'd fit into the months since Jes left him and he realized how much he hadn’t done.

"No, not really,” he said.

"Oh Fjord, that’s not it,” said Caduceus kindly. “Twenty years, or thirty years, that's a very long time for you. I don't think you'll find it short at all. But it's not very long for me. I…got used to the idea of having you around. Since I can feel it. It doesn't seem like you're far away, or anything. I keep thinking that I can just see you. But if I let another few years just go that fast, then I will miss a lot of your life. All of your lives."

His hands were covered in gods-knew-what, so Fjord didn't put a hand on Caduceus' arm, but he did turn and meet his eyes. He didn't seem sad, at least. Actually, he almost looked embarrassed, which made him laugh before he realized it.

"Deuce, if that's what you're worrying about, don't bother. We all know you're there for us. And, if it's anyone's fault that I haven't seen you as often as I should, it's mine. I was the one who stayed on the coast for no reason."

"Hm, well, then I guess we'll have to share the blame."

Fjord shook his head, then stopped still. Truth be told, Caduceus had put voice to a worry that he hadn't recognized in himself.

"I'm not sure there's anything we need blame for. I—we're still travelling, since that's what Caleb wanted in the first place. I think we might want to bed down this winter. We could stay with you, if there's room,” he offered. “I think he's starting to feel the cold, so either we'll have to find a place to rest, or we'll go back down south."

"Oh, no, you don't have to."

"You're right, I don't. I just think it'd be a good idea for us to have some time together again. You can show us the new plantings. Caleb can natter on at your students, if you think they'd listen. I'm free, now. Of a lot of things. There isn't anything behind this other than my own self,” he explained. “You know what I mean?"

Caduceus smiled. "Yes, I do. You really are old."

"Hey, don't you have some noodles to get back to?"

Pushing off from the counter, Caduceus gave him a solemn nod. "Let me know what you and Caleb decide. We've got plenty of room in the Grove, even if it does get cold outside."

Fjord waved him off with a smile.

…

 _Later that same day_ …

"Beauregard. Beau. Come on."

Caleb shook her by the shoulders, forcing her attention back on him. He looked kind of ridiculous in the costume he'd gotten out for today, a bright embroidered black vest laced tightly over a white blouse and tied with a scarf at the neck. His eyes, though, were serious as anything.

"I'm fine!" she said. "Okay, I'm fine, I just—"

"You are just nervous, and that is understandable,” said Caleb. “So, what you are going to do, is you are going to summon all the bravery that I know you _have_ , and you are going to go up there even if you are kind of embarrassed, and the young ones and your brother will maybe laugh at you a bit if you make that sort of a face, but they will be very proud of you."

"I'm not making a face."

Outside the tent, she heard a giggle rise up from the assembled crowd as Nott made some joke or another in her speech. Time was running out. The day wasn't too hot for summer, but she was getting sweaty as anything under her robes. Gods. Why did she even agree to this? They were going to quietly buy some rings and have a good meal at an inn, then elope to the Coast or wherever, not invite half the damn _continent_ out to a farm in the middle of nowhere—

"Pardon me," Caleb said, "But I am the one looking at you. We will not laugh at you. Not even me. And then, you will kneel down, and you will do nothing that you have not already done in committing to a grand sort of adventure, and then it will all be over and we can have a party. Okay?"

"All right," she said. "For the record, I'm not nervous. I just think that, maybe, I'm not suited to public speaking. I'm not a sappy person. It's not going to be romantic. Actually, it's probably going to be real awkward. For everyone, not just me."

Instead of comforting her, like he was supposed to, you know, Caleb just grinned at her.

"This is why we have so much alcohol and food. Remember, your wedding is merely an excuse for us to gather here. This is party for the rest of us. It is simply that while we all here, your friends and Jester's friends all wish to congratulate you."

He let her go, stepping to the side to straighten himself out. That gave her the opportunity for a last-minute breathing exercise. One by one, she counted out a few deep inhales to smooth over everything inside her telling her that speaking openly like this was a stupid, shameful show. Her parents may have taught her to stay quiet, but Expositor Beauregard never held back with her opinions.

There was another wave of chatter and chuckling from outside, and then quiet washed over them. Beau breathed out. It must be Yasha's turn to speak. No time left.

Caleb turned back to her.

"I'll stay with you as long as you require it," he said. "Until you are ready, or until you decide you are not."

"I'm ready," she said. "I'm nervous, I'm not a chicken."

She grabbed his arm harder than she'd meant to. Good thing he had a robe on for padding.

"Well of course," he said simply. "You are Beau."

They stepped out of the tent beside each other, not quite in lock step. He was taller than her by a few inches, even if he had started to shrink. The guests that weren't sick or tired from whatever journey they had were sitting in a scattered circle, some on the grass and some on mismatched stools and chairs, some in a stand of identical seats that Caleb had conjured up. It wasn't worthy trying to pick out faces; they all blended into one, more or less. Somewhere near the centre of the circle, Yasha was standing and reading a speech aloud from one of Jester's sketchbooks that she'd lent her for the occasion. The words more or less flew by Beau. All she could do was pick out the general meaning.

Life was long, time was short, it was important to celebrate whatever good you could find, and this was part of that good. Jester was. _She_ was.

Gods, that still didn't sound right.

"Steady on," Caleb murmured as they reached the edge of the circle.

They were to Yasha's right; on her left, she could see Jester walking arm-in-arm with Marion. Good old Essek. He was easy to spot on Jester's side, as young as he ever was. They'd talked with Marion a lot about this, and she'd agreed to come over for long enough to watch the ceremony. She had been practicing for it. Essek must have teleported her in just when she and Caleb were having their talk.

"I'm fine," she said. Whispered. Choked.

From each side, they picked their way through the crowds, getting a few waves and a few thumbs-up, until they reached the clearing in the middle where Yasha stood. There, Caleb let go of her and Marion let go of Jester, each stepping back to the edge of the clearing. A few of the people sitting closer by stood up. Fjord, Caduceus, TJ, Babenon, Nott.

Like they'd practiced, she and Jester both walked up to Yasha and knelt down on the grass in front of her. What wasn’t in the practice was Jester giving her a wink before they did it.

The ceremony was pretty quick. Yasha gave a short speech calling on the gods of the land and the traditions of the Coast, then draped a rope over their shoulders. Once that was done, the two of them stood up—slowly, so the rope didn't fall off—and faced one another.

Beau said her part first. She didn't know what she'd be capable of after Jester did her part, and besides, it was better if she just got this all over with quickly.

Actually, as she stumbled over her words and paused awkwardly, forgetting what she was about to say, and then barrelled on anyway, she saw an entire story play out in Jester's face. Some of it, she couldn't make out, but she knew there was something going on in her head that dwarfed whatever Beau was scared of. Jester was _staring_. Her eyes were so wide they could probably take in the world.

And then when Jester started…

Well, Beau started to understand. People were looking, watching them, but she finally felt the itchy sense of eyes fade away and leave her in peace.

Jester was telling her something. It wasn't any longer or romantic a script than hers had been. That was almost surprising. More than that, Jester talked about time. Choice. What she had tried to say in hers was that Jester was important and unique, no matter who she was with, no matter where she stood, regardless of anything, just by virtue of being there.

She hadn't expected Jester to say the same thing in different words.

Eventually, the echoes faded.

"You will be together now until you part," intoned Yasha. "You will love until it fades. The chains of conviction bind you, nothing more. Be joyous and be grateful."

Now, came the moment. Beau stepped forward, and so did Jester, and she put her hands on her shoulders. Jester put her hands on her face. Beau leaned forward, and Jester pulled her in, and step by step, one after the other, they went on until they kissed.

There were cheers, applause, a whistle or two, and laughter. Jester was grinning ear-to-ear when Beau finally put her down, and from the feel of it she was blushing hard herself. Oh, well. Suddenly she didn't feel so embarrassed as just happy.

Hands joined, they walked the edge of the clearing, bowing to each person standing there, then bowed to the guests.

Then, it all broke into chaos. There would be some more speeches later. For now, Beau was content to be mobbed. Even as Fjord pulled her into a hug and Caleb messed up her hair, she kept one hand in Jester's. They both held on tight.

…

 _And later again_ …

"Sorry I didn't say hi earlier," Fjord said sheepishly. "Deuce had me on cleaning duty, and then next thing I know Maura's telling me I'm about to miss the ceremony."

If he didn't look so embarrassed, and if they hadn't spent the last few days together, and if she wasn't just happy to be here, she might have given him a real hard time. Jester settled for punching him kindly on the arm.

"You can pay me back later!"

“I intend to.”

And he'd waited until she was sort of near the edge of the field until he swooped in. She swayed and stepped, leading them even further away by a clump of bushes that was sort of dividing the field from the road. It was still very sunny, even if it wasn’t warm, but here there was some shade and a coldish sort of air moving around. It stung her a little through the dress she had picked out with Mama.

“So?” she asked. “What were you thinking?”

Fjord looked like a duck on a frozen pond for a moment. “Me? Well, uh, you should probably set the terms. Since I’m the one who stood you up.”

“No, silly, you came over to talk to me. If you have something to say, I’m telling you to say it.”

“Oh, of course.”

They were standing sort of angled towards each other, so they could look at each other and still look out over the crowded lawn as well. Fjord was raising his arm up to the back of his neck again, impulsively.

"I,” he started, “Well, I suppose I wanted to say I'm…really happy for you.”

He trailed off, leaving her to fill in the awkward gap. Their makeshift band—anyone they knew who could play an instrument and who could read music, and also some musicians from Mama’s work and some of her dad’s friends—had finally found each other and started to warm up in a patchwork quilt of odd tunes.

“Thanks, Fjord!”

“Seems like you—you're—you're helping yourself,” he pressed on, “Just as much as you're helping everyone else.”

Her eyes picked out Yasha, fitting the last piece of her traveller’s harp into place. Beau was hanging over her shoulder, chatting with a smile as she started winding the strings through the notches in the frame.

“Uh, what I mean is, it feels like you've found your place. _Your_ path,” he said with conviction, this time, “Not just the one you think was laid out for you.”

That was…not what she expected him to say. She had to look at him fully now to see what he was meaning by that, since it meant he didn’t understand how she felt about this, but he misunderstood it in a way that was so very close to how it really was and far from what she had expected of him.

He crumbled, even though she wasn’t even staring.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to say that you know any more now, or I know any more than you. Just, I’m glad you’re happy."

Nodding to herself, almost, Jester turned back around and watched one or two members of the band try to start them all off on one of the songs they’d chosen. Beau was somewhere in the crowd now—there. She caught her eye, saw Fjord, and nodded, turning back to Dairon.

“Me too,” she said at last.

How could she tell him this in a way that he would understand…? It was Caleb’s worst part of him, maybe, but she also thought she knew better than people. She did know better, a lot of the time, actually, but there was a big difference between helping people and doing all their learning for them.

"I don't think I was meant to marry Beau."

It had just slipped out, actually, but it was the truth. She felt Fjord’s head turn around like an owl’s to stare at her.

"What?"

"Well,” she said, “I always thought she and Yasha were soulmates, and then I thought I belonged with you, and then she decided to be an Expositor and not, you know, get into these things, and she never stayed with any of her girlfriends.”

Fjord laughed very quietly, stirring up a little bit of ice in her because what did he know so much, it wasn’t her fault Beau never told her things, was it?

“Hey, I know, okay! But—it makes so much sense, since Beau is strong and really full of energy, because that was when Yasha was still very sad and cold and—” She breathed out really hard, and breathed in hard. She wasn’t going to get upset today. “And then I was so sure I was meant to be with you, because I needed to be with someone who understood loneliness and you needed someone so you would never be lonely. Don’t think that I didn’t know how much you wanted me with you, because you did, and I knew that, okay?"

"Yeah. I know."

She felt his hand set down on her shoulder and pull her in for a sort-of hug. Good old Fjord.

"It’s nothing you have to be sorry about, or whatever.”

“Maybe a little,” said Fjord.

“Okay, maybe a little.” She waved her hands in the air, feeling like maybe she seemed upset than she should be. “See, you know that you wanted something that wasn't just going to happen to you. There were so many things that made me separate from Beau and I always thought…well, if I was meant to be with her, then it would happen. But then she did love me, and I loved her, only I never knew that until I asked her. I had to _fight_ for it, so I don't think we were meant to marry. It didn't just happen. I wanted it, and I had to go and try for it, against everything, you know?"

Looking up at him and seeing him look down at her, she didn’t need him to say anything.

"I think I do,” Fjord said anyway.

…

 _In three years_ …

Fjord dusted off his hands and sat back a moment on the grassed-in hillside, trying to catch his breath. It wasn't like he'd done anything harder than a quick walk, but somehow his head was still spinning. He put it down to nerves.

"—Fjord? Are you still with me, or do I have to come and find you?"

"Sorry, I was just thinking."

Standing a ways off, he saw Caleb inspect the circle they'd scored into the sandy earth. This late in the year, evenings were coming in early. The sun shone across the water, skimming like a stone, and hit the land at an angle that made the grass almost silver and streaked the ground with shadows.

"Well, feel free to think a while longer, but I would say we're ready," said Caleb critically, meeting his eyes.

"Let's do it, then."

He pushed himself up from the bank again and got into position near the centre of the circle, putting his back to Caleb's and bringing his arms in front of him into a rigid, arcing pose.

"Shall I count us off to three?" he asked.

"Please."

"One, two, three, start."

They moved.

A spell this complex couldn't just be cast, not without taking a dangerous amount of energy and concentration. Maybe each part of it wasn't so powerful that it would wipe out a mage, but Fjord had seen to it that each part was dwarfed by a massive, shifting whole. There were four, five different magics and twice that many spells woven together, moving piece by piece and overlapping like an orrery.

Fjord followed the steps carefully, moving his arms in the air and his legs around the lines of the circle in a sort of dance, speaking the words he'd memorized while Caleb cast his own spell, separate and intertwined.

It had taken a while for him to even think of how to do it. Caleb was a lifesaver, then, taking Fjord's half-finished ideas and testing them against all the theory he had that Fjord didn't bother with, leaving him free to come up with something in the first place. They made it work, the two of them.

There were a few rules they could leverage. Longer casting spread the spell wider and made it endure; modifying an existing spell was more efficient than creating one; components cut down on power requirements. The spells they learned at Soltryce had weren’t millennia old for no reason. Once a century or so you'd find a researcher who refined one after a lifetime's study, but more often than not there was no better way to do things than the way they were already done.

The first half of the spell finished, Fjord stepped out of the circle and started to walk along its edge, mirrored by Caleb.

The dance was his idea, the circle was Caleb's. By adding the movement of a body as well as the hands, you could force two components of the spell to act together. It had taken a few times to get them to resonate rather than just colliding and sputtering out. It was harder to dance, too, than to draw out a symbol. Hands were much better suited to manipulation than legs and feet, but if the lines were already drawn out, then all you had to do was follow along.

At set points along the edge of the circle, Fjord took a component from the belt slung across his chest and watched it ignite with purple fire as Caleb's magic flared yellow. Nearly done.

All that went some way to making this spell. There was nothing else that could finish it but time. Years on end. Fjord wasn't even a sailor when he dreamed it up and put it away to sit there, never to become. And even after he spent months with all Caleb's texts and Essek's advice, the components still failed. The tricks and the trade-offs were useless when the power needed for the base spell was more than one person could survive.

That, really, was the limiter on all magic. Uk'otoa kept him humble when he was young, then Melora's rules. Deuce said real people could only handle so much divinity, which make a kind of sense for him, but Deuce seemed as close to a god as you could get from a person, so he didn't entirely believe that.

With studied magic, Caleb explained that you could fling any spells you wanted out from your books so long as you'd learned them. The problem was that the risk of backfire went up the stronger the force you called on, so much so that not even the mad ones tried it. Anyone who was dumb enough to ignore thousands of years of history had their ashes scraped into a lead canister and buried in the mountains. So, in the end, he couldn't do it. That's what Caleb sadly said a year ago.

But two of them could.

Fjord stepped back into the circle, retracing his steps to the centre where he stood back to back with Caleb, carving out the final portions of the spell as they stepped backwards, then forwards in a circle, turning together with one last word and coming together, arms intertwined and toe-to-toe. The violet and yellow that marked the two halves of the spell touched, then bloomed outward like a shockwave, spreading out across the grass and up the hillside.

It was over.

Wonder pounded in his chest.

Turning to look, he saw a field of coruscating light spread out from him. It was hard to make out at first, but the more he stared, the more he saw. A thin line, fluorescing green and orange, snaked just behind his feet in a shape that echoed the Menagerie coast. Illusory plains reached a metre from him, then flowed up into woolly forest and mountain peaks that he couldn't focus on, but that seemed no more than inches high. Nestled between the coastline and the mountains he could see cities, towns, villages, to the right and left, and then more in the distance, over the mountains. Even the patchwork fields showed up. He could pick out the line near Zoon where grazing land turned to vineyards.

"Show me Trostenwald," he heard Caleb say, quietly, beside him.

Just like that, the map dissolved and refocused. Now they could see the road cutting north and south, with the mountains gathering at their feet. There were white letters, distorted, as if they'd been written on wrinkled paper. They hovered just beside the town.

_TROSTENWALD_

"Huh," was all he could say.

"Fjord, you are, I think, amazing."

He didn't really register what Caleb said until much later. The spell looked insubstantial for all the work that went into it. Hell, he could see it break and flow around his ankles, making two patches where the bare grass showed underneath. How could you trust that the magic was there? Was this even real?

"We don't know if it's fully functional," he said.

Caleb grabbed him by the shoulder with both hands and shook him once. "Fully functional? What are you, a foreman? We have mapped the world. Come, let's test it!"

"Cay—"

He didn't even wait for an answer before he pulled Fjord forward by his arm, stepping toward the town on the map. They wouldn't have got far if Fjord didn't stumble along behind him, trying to articulate why the man should _wait_ before jumping headfirst into a homemade spell by someone who wasn't even a real arcanist.

"Steady—let’s wait first. We—that thing could dump us anywhere, even if it works—Caleb, are you even listening to me? I don't—I'm still not that good with this sort of thing. Caleb!"

Now Caleb did look back at him, and he could see he'd mistaken his speed for impulse. His eyes were wide and his face was burning with focus, not just curiosity. That sort of look could warp an iron bar. Fjord's hesitation didn't really match up.

"No," said Caleb. "The theory here _is_ sound. We have taken every precaution. Even if, and I do not believe it is likely or reasonable to expect this, but even if something goes horribly wrong, the consequences and the outcomes should be no more than a failed teleport. This—this is what you imagined, is it not? All that is left to do is to realize it."

The last bit of resistance in Fjord burned out with the words. He closed his hand around Caleb's in return.

"Okay. I’ll do it."

"Yes."

The sun was sitting just above the horizon by now, pushing both their shadows out in front of them by fifteen, twenty feet. They were giants. Fjord stepped up to the outline of Trostenwald above the ground.

It took one word to trigger the last part of the spell. It dispersed the map like soap on spilled oil, crackling up to form a portal in front of them.

He was lightheaded at this point, barely noticing the pressure on his hand as he and Caleb stepped through the white fire, on to the long south road. Their feet landed in the damp dust of late autumn on the plains.

They looked at each other, then looked back. There was nothing but the road, leading off to where the mountains would be if the clouds weren't low and thick nearer the coast.

“I’m here," Fjord said.

He didn't know how else to explain it.

…

 _In three years_ …

"Jes?"

Jester looked up from her sketchbook, turning it face-down on the table. Beau stood behind the open door of their shared study, hair loose and falling down over the shoulder of her nightclothes.

"I'll just be a few more minutes," she said, "Don't worry, I already put out the kitchen fire."

She waited for an answer, but Beau seemed to be just snapping out of some weird space.

"Actually," said Beau, "I was, uh, thinking we could talk a bit. About, you know. Um. What you said a while back. If there's enough time, though. I don't want to keep you up if tomorrow's busy."

She was still standing on the threshold, Jester noticed. The door hadn't creaked open any further than it was hanging there. Beau was ready to wait there. Something warm turned over in her chest and made itself comfortable.

Closing her sketchbook, she nodded at Beau and started to put away her pens and pencils. It was only after all of that that she heard the door creaking, and Beau stepped in. Then there was a scrape as she closed and latched the door behind her.

"I have time. And we don't have to talk about all of everything in one night; there is tomorrow, too," she said.

Beau knelt down on the floor by her, beside the desk so that she could look over all the scrolls and things that Jester had open.

"Letters?" she asked. "Let me know when you're ready to send them, I should probably put something in there."

"I was going to." Jester let herself laugh. "Though, maybe I should make you write your own. I shouldn't have to do all the work here, shouldn't I?"

"Ugh, no, all I have to talk about is work."

Once the most spillable inks were sealed and the pencils were back in the good earthenware vase she'd stolen from downstairs, Jester readjusted her skirts and turned to face Beau, who was still doing a good job of staring at the desktop.

"I think you should go first," she said gently. "Since you said you were thinking about talking."

Actually, it was really surprising that Beau came to her like this. Things were…good, here. The Cobalt Soul had needed some extended supervision after everything blew up with the slavers—the whole "legal contractors of vagrant workers" didn't work so well when they were stripping the manacles out of the longhouses—which Beau could definitely do. But she was just working all day, with reports and auditing and legal proceedings and lines of contract and just trying to keep an eye on everything, because if it continued after the war ended then it was going to continue even after they arrested the girl who looked like she was running it all. There was so much wrong with Rexxentrum and Beau was the one who laid it out both times, so here she was.

Which meant that there wasn't a lot of time for thinking or talking. She also didn't have a lot of time. In a port like this there were travellers everywhere, all sorts of people who unravelled when you pulled on the thread and led Jester to some situations that really needed fixing.

She didn't want to stay like this forever, though, and they had already agreed right at the beginning that it wasn't going to be.

"Yeah, that sounds fair." Beau sort-of-smiled. "So, I know I said that it wasn't the right time. But, I didn't want to leave you hanging, so I did my research. Actually talked a bit with Nott about it, when they were up here last month."

Jester decided to ignore whatever she was feeling right now until she knew what to do with it. She nodded at Beau. "I _thought_ you guys were sneaking around. I thought you were just buying me a secret present, or something."

"What? Oh, uh—" Beau looked surprised, stammering a bit. "Well…"

"Don't worry, I'm just making fun of you!" she said. Beau wasn't usually this slow. "I wasn't really thinking anything. You're her friend just like I am, ya?"

Beau rolled her eyes and chuckled, straightening out her hair. "Yeah, sure. Uh, so, I know I've still got time, and I might change my mind and all that, but I've gotten all the information and I've made a decision."

Her voice was so light and thin, and crackly. It was like she didn't want to say it, even though no one else was there and she knew, of course she had to know that whatever she said wasn't going to change anything. Well, all right. Maybe Jester was going to feel a little sad, and maybe she was going to have to spend some time thinking about it, and maybe she was going to have to find another way, so that she could make it all work out, but Jester hadn't spent _so_ much time worrying about Beau to just blame this on her.

"Yes, Beau?" After thinking about it for another second, she added, "It's okay."

"Hah, sorry about that," croaked Beau.

"It's fine. Crying's good, you know."

In front of her, Beau rubbed her eyes and blinked a bit, frowning like a rabbit.

"Oh, sure. It's just a dumb thing to be crying about. I don't even know why I'm crying."

Now Jester almost started giggling. She was trying not to cry, too, and she didn't even know what it was about.

"Come on, Beau, pull yourself together! You should be talking to me!"

"All right, all right. I'm okay with it." Beau said. "That's what I wanted to say. I—you're probably going to have to help me with it, a lot, but I think I can handle a kid. Maybe two. Maybe. If we even find one, but that's not even—I can. I want to, I think. If you still want them. I’ll do what I can to make it work."

She held Jester's gaze, eyes shining, for as long as it took her to realize what Beau was telling her. Her breath choked, and as she fell forward she grabbed Beau and held her tight.

"Oh, Beau." Was all she could say.

"Hey, it's fine. I mean it. I'm not sacrificing anything—it's just I was certain, I was so sure that I was just going to fuck any kid I found up, because what do I know about good parenting, you know? It took me so many years to get over that shit. I think, if you're there, I won't be able to do that kind of damage."

"But you're not fucked up, Beau," Jester mumbled into her hair.

"I don't think we've got the same standards," said Beau.

Jester let go of her shoulders and grabbed her face. There were some things that were really important to understand. Even if your makeup was running a lot and there were dark stains on Beau's nightdress now.

"You're not fucked up," she said. "Your parents hurt you. And you're not going to hurt anyone, because you know that you can and you're going to try not to."

For a long moment, Beau looked at her, but then she gave up.

"You're right, Jes," she said. "I'm going to try not to hurt anyone. And, I like caring for people, I think. I just never had the chance until I had to. Nott made a good point when she said she wasn't what you think anyone's mom should be, and Luc still turned out fine."

Jester felt herself beam, scrabbling for all the plans she'd carefully drawn up and then left in the back of her mind to maybe think about some day.

"Exactly! That's it, Beau! You'd make such a good mom, I'm sure. But we don't have to do it right now. And there's lots of stuff to think about! Like, I think I want to be travelling around a bit more first, and then how many of them do we want, and where would be a good home, but—"

Beau was looking at her weirdly. "Wow," she said, "You've got plans."

"Of course! I always wanted to have kids, you know, I wasn't lying," she chided. "I know maybe it was a little weird, okay, but I had so much fun growing up with mom that I thought maybe I could have another baby like that, and do even more things with them. It would be like having another best friend, except different."

"Actually—you're right, we should probably wait a few years, I really need some time to prepare—but I think we should probably be close to your mom when they're growing up," said Beau.

The candle was guttering, so they should probably go to bed soon, but Jester didn't really want to move. She tried to push some of Beau's hair out of the way, so that she could see her better.

"Jes?"

"Ya. I was going to ask you for that, too, but I think I don't have to, now."

…

 _In four years_ …

Caleb blew gently on the ink he had just added to the parchment, one last line in a long list of items, some crossed out.

_The rosemary is not to be over-watered. Please only apply water when the ground beneath is fully dry._

"Cay? Are we ready?"

Fjord's head peeked in through the back door to their cottage, hair now more white than grey.

"Very nearly, I have only for the ink to dry."

He started to pack up the small writing kit unfolded on the table, replacing ink bottle, glue, and pen in the oilskin satchel.

"Oh, did you remember about the rosemary?" asked Fjord.

"Yes, though I'm sure it could survive another wet winter."

"I don't want to risk it."

Ducking out again, Fjord left Caleb to his own devices.

Let's see…the cupboards were left with whatever food was in them, the bread and perishables which they could not pack were left in the garden for the birds and plants, and the few things here they wanted to keep were safe under the bed in a runic trunk. The cottage they had found, uninhabited, three years ago was too rough for anyone to steal, though he and Fjord (with Jester's invaluable assistance) had worked the bones of the house into a home, such as it was. The wooden stairs running down to the beach were barred off, as the wind would freeze ice on them in the winter. Anyone who went by that way would have to ignore the advice of common sense and the notes that Caleb now rolled up and slipped into a case, to be placed inside the front door.

A draft was blowing up through the house that their rudimentary caulking couldn't catch. He was glad to be going away from the winter, mild as it was here.

Caleb brushed himself off and opened his coat, replacing the writing kit in its pocket. Then, he wrapped the coat back around him and fastened it tightly, fitting the toggles together and buckling the belt around his waist.

He took the sign from its bare hook and opened the front door, flinching slightly at the chill wind that blew in. Looping the rope twice around the doorknocker and knotting it once, he secured the sign to the door.

_Welcome Traveller_

Then, leaving both doors closed and unlocked, he left through the back door and stepped out into the garden.

Fjord stood there, looking along the long rows of plantings to the sea. It was iron-grey and brisk today, forming tiny whitecaps in the middle distance. Their bags were packed. Fjord carried one on his back and offered the other to Caleb as he approached.

"All done?"

"Yes. You seem pensive," Caleb said.

"Huh. There isn't very much going on in my head, if I'm honest."

"Mm, perhaps," he said lightly. "A person can be dwelling on one thought, though, as well as many."

He walked carefully through the circle Fjord had drawn in the soil, taking up his position near the centre as Fjord followed him.

"Fair point. I suppose you could say this is the only place I'd ever choose to live."

"But?"

"If I stay too long, I always remember things I’d rather not. I've spent so much of my life here that there are a lot of regrets." Fjord shrugged, then smiled. "Where to, then?"

Caleb understood. "Home" had a complicated meaning for them both. The love Fjord felt for his was something far and above any attachment Caleb had to the fields where he grew up, but when the sky weighed down like this it could be a burden as much as a comfort.

"We did agree to visit Nicodranas first, but I would like to approach from the vineyards. It will be warm, there," he added.

"Lead the way."

That was why, each winter, they left. Now that they could teleport without a circle or an anchor, they could step through into anywhere and spend weeks walking new paths, remembering the world that existed. Caleb enjoyed it, especially the time with friends spent in a richer house and away from the cold, but for Fjord it was more than that. To see him step through the portal each time and on to new soil, it was like he awoke again.

And each time he did, Caleb watched him.

…

 _In nine years_ …

"Remember, don't let your brother fall in the water!" he heard Caduceus call.

Fjord stepped off the final slanting stair and on to the pier, which stretched out from the beach. Eloy was chasing Katya in what looked like a one-sided game of tag, and from the looks of it…yeah, he was glad Jessie had taken to giving him a breathe water spell. Katya could swim like a fish already, but for all the time he spent in the water, her brother was just too young to have that kind of motor control.

He picked his way over the rocks to the canvas chair where Caduceus was sitting, enjoying the sun in a hat so wide-brimmed you could eat dinner off of it. Speaking of…

"Thought it might be time for a snack," he said, setting his tray down on the pier. "No tears yet, I hope?"

"Why, thank you. And no, none yet," Deuce confirmed. "Though I'm sure they'll get around to it."

"I guess you'd know."

Peering over the snack tray, Caduceus raised the brim of his hat above his eyes. "Spring rolls?"

"Dried shrimp and carrot. We knocked a few out for lunch, but I figure the kids won't mind eating the same thing twice. And tea, of course."

Fjord settled down beside him. He crossed his legs and took one of the four glasses from the tray to sip on, until someone called him back or his back got stiff from sitting on the wood.

"I'd expect no less," said Caduceus, taking one from himself and leaning back.

It was a warm day today. They were north of the true warm waters, but their sheltered cove was shallow enough that you wouldn't know the difference on a sunny day like this. The vague sounds of Katya explaining the rules of tag drifted on the wind. She had to have been old enough to remember her parents, when the two of them were left on the Château doorstep, but if someone told him she was Beau's by birth he would have to believe them. Poor Eloy was going to have a hell of a time growing up.

The sun caught on a wave, and not for the first time, his spine went stiff and his mind screamed at him. _He had been here before._

"Hm? Are you all right, Fjord?"

Caduceus' voice snapped him out of the trance almost as quickly as he went into it, and Fjord looked up into a face of mild concern.

"I'm okay, don't worry. Just—one of those déjà vus again."

"I see."

They'd talked about it before, the first time, way back when they were setting up the wedding decorations and Fjord had nearly dropped a table on his foot watching Caduceus finish off a trellised arch. But so far, nothing bad had ever come of them. It was just another mystery. The Wildmother's, probably, but who knew?

"Do you think—" He searched for a way to explain it. "I know Melora’s still out there, but do you think we're still connected? I haven't felt her magic since a long time ago."

Finishing his drink, Caduceus leaned back in the chair luxuriously.

"You still pray to her," he said. "And we still have our connection."

"That's true. I guess,” Fjord wondered, “I know that I can still feel her sometimes. I'm just not sure if there's something I should be doing. If these are, I don't know, some kind of message. I can't think of what else it could be."

His hands clasped together around the glass, grounding him in the pressure.

"Hm, maybe. I don't think you have to be worried. If you're thinking about it that much, you probably know what you should do already. She's not into mind games, remember? Just let things be."

"Okay. Thank you," he said genuinely. "Again. I feel like I ask you too many questions where I should know the answer."

They both watched the kids for a moment, drinking in the sunlight.

"I can't particularly judge. Maybe I give to many answers when I don't know for certain," said Caduceus.

Fjord laughed. "I get it. They're always good enough for me, you know."

“I’m glad to hear it.”

He sat back, at ease, until his back started to hurt. It didn't take long. They were getting old, him especially.

…

 _In the future_ …

Fjord woke up.

Caleb was rolled into a cocoon beside him, though they'd long, long ago solved that problem by dividing their blankets down the middle. There was no reason to feel this cold.

He got out from under the covers gingerly, stepping on to the floor, and felt his knees and back seize as he tried to stand up. It stopped him there for a good minute or so. He tried to get his body working again, one joint at a time. What was he even awake for? There was no noise, no wind battering at the corners of the cottage and no sounds from any of the mice or birds who might come by.

When the pain finally subsided, he stood up, breathing shallowly through lungs that didn't work like they used to. He shuffled towards the door. The air was still cold but…not chilly, even through his nightshirt. It just seemed empty. There wasn't anything in the room, so that meant there couldn't be any heat. Did that make sense? Everything seemed cold these days. He’d have to start the fire early.

Another shot of pain ran through his knee, forcing him to stop halfway. He straightened as he tried to stretch it, though the pain was in the joint and Caduceus said there was only so much he could do, without herbs, and—

He realized that his back was straighter than it had been these past few years. There was no way he could stand this far above the ground. His eyes were almost level with the doorway he'd banged his head on when he was younger and taller.

Walking on, he felt another pang. This one wasn't physical. It was a sense of…remembering. Being here before.

Déjà vu.

Somewhere in him, he knew what was happening. He just had to figure it out.

He reached the door and, instinctively, leaned on it to steady himself. He didn't expect the heat.

Not just the heat. The door was thrumming with an energy that made his hair stand on end. It reached down through his fingers to the soles of his feet and the crown of his head, like lightning that somehow didn't hurt.

And now he could see, too. The cataracts from so much time in the sun had crowded in around him as the months went on, making his night vision next to useless and his day vision not much better. Caleb had taken to reading his writing aloud just so he could know it too. But right now, every detail stood out almost better than it did when he was young. He could see the knotholes in the wooden planks. He remembered what tree they must have come from, he felt the fresh dew on his skin and the flow of sap, pumping like blood, the itch of birds in his branches, the dancing sun moving through the sky over and over, and over again as he grew up to a massive height—

It was all in the space of a moment, as he touched the wood, and Fjord felt it at once. He looked down.

There, shoots grew up from the wooden floor around his feet, curling up and sprouting out from the door as well, and trailing back behind him to the bed.

A clarity came over him like he hadn't felt in a very long time.

It was a long time, that he'd lived. A long time and many lives.

Fjord looked back at Caleb, sound asleep and snoring faintly. The cat curled up at his feet did the same. He stood there for one long moment.

Then he opened the door and, silently, stepped outside. The shoots followed him through the kitchen, across cane-marked floor and through the back door, down the makeshift ramp laid over the stairs and through the garden. His legs carried him far and fast, out to the edge of the land where the grass grew up in tufts and the earth sloped down steeply toward the sea.

No one saw who knew what they were seeing, but the world is never quiet. The grasses and the insects, everything living in the night, witnessed.

…

Caleb woke up.

Immediately, he wished he hadn't. The cold was getting to him dearly, even through two layers of wool and three blankets. If it was as late as he slept from day to day, Fjord should have lit a fire by now in the main hearth, or at least stuffed a blanket beneath the door. Gods, it was cold.

As it was, he was well awake already. No use trying to go back to sleep.

He rolled to the side, into the hollow Fjord's body left, and regretted it instantly as his bones complained.

Eventually, cursing and mumbling, he wrenched his eyes open. He ran through a quick warming spell before he sat up. It was decades since wasting magic had been a real worry, and it was damned cold.

What had he been doing, again?

Ah, the fire. Fjord must have been on one of his morning strolls again, or else even he would not let the house grow this cold. Hardy though he was, they were both old. A roaring blaze was scarcely enough to keep them warm.

He peeled the blankets away from him one by one with swollen fingers, which creaked and ached like unoiled hinges. Then, rubbing at his bleary eyes, he swung a foot down off the bed and touched the floor.

And flinched, at least as much as his worn and weary body could. Instead of the smooth, cold planking of their bedroom floor, he stepped on to something sharp and springy which…snapped as he pressed down on it.

Sitting up, he took in the sight. Splinters of the planks peeled off and up, forming budded sprouts and twigs that bloomed into green leaves in dull and silvery colours of the coast. They formed an irregular path a foot wide in places, sometimes two, that wound through the open doorway to the kitchen.

Caleb was cold again.

He stood up, taking up his coat from its place by the door as he stumbled through the kitchen and outside, still barefoot. The new growth went through the open back door, through the garden, though the plants were not always the same. While inside it had been pine, the shoots in the garden were of all the plants they'd grown there. Then, trailing out toward the sea, there was only a patch of ground where grass was greener and the curling stems of flowers reached up, showing a path.

The tears didn't come at once. They waited, building strength as he followed the wild path along the coast, winding for a good few minutes, at this pace, down to the beach and the sea. He didn't sob. They simply flowed from him as water flowed downhill or snow fell to the ground.

Noon was nearly on him. Chill though it was, the day was quite fair and he had no trouble following the path where it led, shuffling through the grass on cold, sore feet. It should be cloudy, most likely, damp and grey as winter days were here. As a child, though, he had learned that the world did not take notice of the people in it. The day was fine and would be warm for the season, though Caleb would not feel it.

The new growth changed again on the beach, becoming denser and woodier as it wound toward the body. Caleb watched the branches twine over themselves, then split apart and cover Fjord. They curled around his arms and legs and body, sealing it within a coffin of tiny green leaves and five-petalled yellow flowers. They dotted him like stars. When Caleb knelt down beside him and peered through, he could see his face within the plant. His eyes were closed.

It took some time before he was finished with the worst of the crying.

It took him two hours more to eat breakfast and to pack up his belongings and necessities, levitating them down to the beach where Fjord lay.

Kneeling beside the body, he Sent a message to Caduceus. Perhaps he knew already. Fjord had never told him fully what the link was between them, only that it stayed.

_Fjord is dead. I will take him to you. You have my thanks._

Then, speaking one last spell into the place which was his home, they vanished.

_…_

"There."

Caleb watched Caduceus push the last of the earth over the planting row. Fjord's grave had no stone yet, but it was marked by the seeds Fjord and Caduceus had chosen some time ago.

"Thank you," he said. Whispered. His voice was cracked.

"It's an honour to bury a friend," Caduceus said smoothly, though his eyes were dark. He had taken this with more grace than Caleb. "Please, stay here as long as you need. We'd be glad to have you here before you die."

He stayed seated in the chair brought out for him, pulling the blanket tight around him as he smiled toward Caduceus.

"I will stay until the funeral, but I am afraid I do not plan to linger. Though if you should want me, I will make sure to visit."

"You're returning home, then," said Caduceus, ever-knowing. He stood at Caleb's side, so tall as to seem godlike.

"In a way, I suppose," he said. "Though the house on the shore is empty, now. Nott will take me. She and Yeza still have some decades more to live. I think, of all of us, I am the one soonest to die."

"I believe so, yes. You never know when an accident could happen, though."

Caleb laughed as much as he could.

"That is a comforting thought, Mr. Clay," he said.

Was it?

It felt as if he was walking in a dream. Somewhere out there was the cottage he called home for years and years. The wind blew in through the back door. The mice and birds would pick at the food. Someone might come along, as they had, and make it again a home.

The cottage was no longer home. It was merely a part of the landscape, no more a home than a tree was, or the beach. If he returned, he would walk into a cold house where he had no reason to be. The house on the sea was Fjord's. He had only been content to dream with him.

"Caleb?"

"Mm?"

The presence of Caduceus made itself known. How had he forgotten him? What had they spoken of?

"Do you want to be here alone?"

It was an odd question.

"You are also mourning. Whether you are here, or gone, we will both be here," he said.

"Hm. I understand."

They both stayed there for some time.

When duty called Caduceus away, he left Caleb sitting there. His eyes watched, though they did not reach the grave.

After more silent thought, he reached up to the braid that Fjord had woven the last night. Stiff fingers took out the string around it and combed through his hair, still streaked with colour after so much time. He re-tied his hair into a short tail down his back.

His hands came to rest on his lap again where he stared, head bent. One was balled into the pocket of his coat, while the other one rested open on his knee.

A scar was there that never faded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: implied eye horror, major character death (not premature).
> 
> Misc notes:  
> \- This chapter isn't part of the story proper, but I wanted to show that the characters' lives continue after it in a way that makes the first 21 chapters a turning point in their lives.   
> \- Wizard!Fjord is my ultimate endgame for the character, like, Everything good about his character is his fork-in-the-electric-socket curiosity and his eagerness to learn anything about anything, just because.  
> \- This is Fjord's story, even if Caleb is a narrator, so it only makes sense that it ends when he dies.   
> \- The story can probably stand on its own, since even I'm not sure exactly how to describe how the characters interact.   
> \- That said, the closest to where I'm writing Fjord is as an asexual man inclined towards other men, but who hasn't really had a lot of close relationships at all that could fit into that category. Romance isn't a be-all or end-all or really even a possibility, so he's focused on whatever relationships he thinks will last. That also that he'd never pursue a relationship that he thinks might damage whatever friendship he's already got, even though he was head-over-heels for Caleb from 'we'll make it work'. More than that, his idea of a partnership doesn't strictly fit anything associated with conventional romance, so he's also hesitant to go after it because chances are, any partner is going to want something that he isn't comfortable with. Going into microlabels, you might call him a grey-homoromantic asexual guy.   
> \- And the closest to where I'm writing Caleb is as a bisexual man whose only major romantic relationship(s) happened in/around/associated with the events that fucked up him for good. How much of it was actual interest in Astrid, and how much of it was cult brainwashing to ensure loyalty to the in-group? Caleb doesn't know. He's attracted to various people but he's so afraid of getting entangled like that with someone and it blowing up similarly that he focuses on his strictly platonic relationships. The people he gets and stays closest to are Nott and Beau, the two people who are strictly, 100% out of romantic consideration. He reciprocated Fjord's interest from the start as well, but he and Fjord scared each other off by being furtive and overcautious.
> 
> Again, it's been a joy to read everyone's comments! I'd like to thank you all for being the reason this got finished at all. Keep on keeping on

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments are very much appreciated, whether it's pointing out a typo or leaving feedback (:


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